


Three Shards of Fate

by KRMalana



Series: The Heroes Three [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Assassins, Epic foreshadowing, F/M, Hints of Fenris, Hints of Hawke Family, M/M, Male Slash, More than One Warden, Original Character(s), Someone isn't who he seems, Wolf traits
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-23
Updated: 2013-03-23
Packaged: 2017-12-06 04:23:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 38,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/731399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KRMalana/pseuds/KRMalana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cousland, Tabris, Mahariel. Three men of different races and backgrounds, drawn together with other companions for events that no one knew would shape the world. Or the men that would change, and save, themselves. Slash, Yaoi, M/M.  M!Mahariel/Alistair, Zevran/M!Cousland, Sten/OMC, hints of M!Tabris/?.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue:  Koln Cousland

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duncan finds the first of his new Grey Warden recruits. But will this human be strong enough to survive his circumstances?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Koln's chapters are written in First Person POV

_I don’t know what impressed Wynne to give me such a thing.  It’s a diary.  What do I want a diary for?  “Write it down” she said as she hand me this leather bound book with blank pages.  That was all, no more words or explanation.  Does she mean what’s happening right now, or what happened before?_

_Why?  Why would I ever want to write about the destruction, the tragedy, my greatest failure, my deepest pain?  I carry it now.  And I won’t ever forget…_

Koln Cousland.  That is my name.  Or perhaps that is now a was.  Is there anyone remaining who knew me by more than just a name?  The people that loved and cared and worked and breathed and just live in the castle.  Dead.  Gone.  Every single one of them.  I don’t believe I’m Koln Cousland anymore, no.  Koln died with them all that night. 

I was the second child, born to my father Teryn Bryce Cousland and my mother Eleanor.  My parents were good people, fair and kind.  I heard people wondering, growing up in Highever, why such respect and loyalty was given.  Justice and Temperance, that’s what people need.  No, it’s what they deserve.  That’s what my parents always said…  What happened?!  Father and Fergus were to lead our soldiers to Ostagar while I remained behind to take care of Highever and the rest of the family.  My warrior father and my battle maiden mother, gone.

Fergus, my older and only sibling.  I guess we could be considered close for siblings, since we had the standard “I love you one moment and fight with you the next.”  But of course, we were the only ones who could pick on the other.  I’ve pulled him out of brawls too numerous to remember and he stopped the teasing due to my hair.  While my parents and brother were born with brown or black hair, I was born with stark white hair.  I’m no different than anyone else besides that yet of course the other boys teased me, called me snow white after some old story.  There’s nothing special about me besides the hair, no.  Not even that is special.  I’m not special.  I shouldn’t have survived while all else died. 

Oriana, my brother’s wife.  Oh how Fergus loved her!  His beauty from Antiva was his pet name for her.  She was different than the rest of us.  I rather think we frightened her, or in the very least my mother confused her:  her from a country were women are considered pure and delicate and now in a family where not only were the father and two sons were warriors, but the mother as well.  But she fit in quickly and sent us for our own loops of confusion and exasperation.  Like the day my nephew Oren was born.  Oriana had been put on bed rest for the last few weeks of the pregnancy and couldn’t stand lying around, so she snuck out for, of all things, a horseback ride.  Being the only one left in the house I had to go after her with maids and servants scurrying behind.

As one might expect the ride had sent Oriana into labor and she was stuck out in the woods in labor.  Luckily a maid caught up near the end and was the one to assist into Oren’s arrival into the world, but since Fergus wasn’t there I got to hold him first.

It’s one the greatest wonders of the world to hold a newborn.  To see them take their first breathes and cries.  To announce if it’s a boy or girl.  To look into their eyes for the first time.  Oren’s eyes were open that night, when I found him.  His cries are sometimes the loudest in my nightmares.  He was a boy!  Young, little, innocent!  How could you kill him!?  How could you leave him dead on the floor like that, eyes dead to the world, blood spilled around him?  He died while I lived!  He and his mother died while I _slept_ just across the hall!

Father had been talking with Arl Howe (murderous, traitorous, backstabbing, sly sneaky, blood spilling, life ending bastard!) when I arrived in response to a missive sent by one of the servants.  “Sorry, Pup, I didn’t see you there.”

“I only just arrived, Father.”  Pup.  Father had been calling me that for as long as I can remember.  He told me he gave me the name after I waltzed right into the birthing pen of a mother mabari and her young pups to see if one would imprint on me.   I gave both father and the hound master a heart attack since that is the most dangerous time to be around the fierce war dogs, but the mother paid me no mind.  And that’s how I came to have Neera, the only one left from my life.

“I trust you remember my son, Howe.”

“Of course, it’s been a while but he’s quite hard to forget.”  He had smiled at the reference to my hair.  How could he have smiled, how could he have acted like nothing was going to happen?  “Delilah keeps asking after you, you remember my daughter?  I should bring her next time…”

I remember finding that odd at the time.  Delilah?  I’d barely seen her after she was still in pigtails and only briefly at some of mother’s salons.  What interest would she have in me?  Or, of course, it could have been either mother’s or father’s secret hint that I should be trying to find a wife.  Who knows now…  “If you two are trying to arrange a marriage…”

My discomfort must have been evident past the grin since both men laughed.  “I told you this is what I deal with, Howe.  My boy is too fierce to be told anything these days, but I still have the Maker bless his heart.” 

“You did well to have another boy to have such a temperament with such fighting skill.”  He meant my brother, of course.  It was true that Fergus’ fighting skill came from a fierce spirit, almost like a bear or mabari.  I’m not sure if Arl caught the difference since Father always referred to me as “fiercely gentle”.  Even now I’m not sure what that means.

“Anyways, Pup, I brought you here to tell you that while Fergus and I are off fighting, I am leaving you in charge of the castle.”  I had figured this was what Father had planned.  While most of the training had been given to Fergus as Highever would pass to him, I had not been neglected either.  I knew what was involved in its running and care, but more attention had been given to my potential role as leader of our forces.  Fergus joked that while he might rule, I would be his face, eyes, and ears in Highever.

I didn’t want Father and Fergus to go.  It wasn’t the coming battle.  It wasn’t the fact that he would be fighting darkspawn monsters instead of fellow humans.  It had been a feeling, crawling coolly up my spine.  Had I…known?  “I don’t like it…but I will do my best, Father.”

Father smiled knowingly.  He knew that the warrior in me wanted to be fighting alongside them.  “I know you will.  Token forces will be left here just in case they’re needed to keep the peace.  Mice sometimes play when the cat is away, yes?”  Dear Maker!  Could father have known?  “Ah, before I forget, I would like you to meet someone.  Please, show Duncan in.” 

One of the servants opened a door and waved a man a bit younger than my father in, dressed to the tilt in grey armor and a sword.  “Lordship!  Y-you didn’t mention that a Grey Warden would be present here…”  I had caught the shake in Arl Howe’s voice back then, but had thought it had been to being in a Warden’s presence.  After all, it wasn’t every day that one of the legendary warriors walks into the room. 

“He only arrived recently, albeit unannounced.  Is there a problem, Howe?”

“Of course not just….certain protocol for guests of such statue…I’m at a disadvantage…”  Sure, lie your way through, straight to our faces.  You should be afraid of Duncan, Howe.  You should be afraid of Grey Wardens, heroes of legends who stopped Blights and saved generations.  But most of all is this, Arl How:  you should be afraid of Duncan because, through him, I’m alive.  If my only purpose for my survival is to track and kill Howe, I’ll do it. 

“Duncan is here looking for recruits before heading to Ostagar.”  Father had gone on to explain.

Ah, that wasn’t much of a surprise then.  “So you’re here to see Ser Gilmore?”  Roland was one of my closest friends, and sparring companion.  He had been sent by his father to squire at Highever and had grown into one of our best knights.  I had been so happy at the time!  To think one of my friends would have the honor to be considered for the Grey Wardens!

“If I would be allowed to be bold, you would also be an excellent candidate, young Cousland.”  Me?  Me!?  The very thought of being considered for the Wardens had made my heart race at the time.

And how fast my father had stepped in between me and Duncan ( _am…am I smiling at this memory?_ )!  “Honor though this may be, this is my youngest son we’re talking about, barely past 17.  I’ve only two children and I will not gladly see all of them off to battle.  Unless you intend to invoke the Right of Conscription?”  It made sense to me, and I understood.  While he had used the logical reasons to keep me home, to care for Highever, he was human.  He didn’t want both his children in battle, with the chance of both of them dying…

  Duncan had placated my father, saying that while they did need the recruits he would not force the issue.  When he was certain that I wouldn’t be taken away, Father had calmed down, smiling again.  “Please make sure Duncan’s requests are seen to while I’m gone?  And if you could, Pup, find your brother and tell him that he’ll have to lead the troops to Ostagar without me.” 

So I had gone to find my brother, with a little side adventure of fetching my mabari out of the larder with Ser Gilmore to calm Nan (and get to her stop picking so much at the elven servants who worked there).  It was just like a very bad story, like Ser Gilmore pointed out, fighting giant rats.  But at least Nan had been calmed down; I would do anything to make my old nanny happier.  I don’t know why, but in thanks she had told me one of my favorite stories, “The Dog who Bit”.  Had she known as well?

I moved on and found my mother, who had already grown worried that I had gotten it into my head that I wanted to be recruited for the Grey Wardens.  While, yes, I had the idea, I knew that know was not the time for it.  Mother… even though she was now turning grey and more likely to throw a salon than pick up a sword, she was still beautiful.  She was still my battle maiden mother.  “I love you, my darling littlest boy.  You know that, don’t you?  Growing up so fast, now in charge of the castle…” 

_No, I can’t write anymore.  It’s too painful.  My Father.  My Mother.  My brother and sister-in-law and nephew.  My castle and lands of people.  They’re all gone.  They’re all dead.  I can’t do this!  I can’t write this anymore!_

_…Perhaps… I should write them down.  Write them down so their memory, their lives are recorded somewhere?  Just in case…I don’t survive enough to hold their memories in me…_

_Write it down… write through the pain…_

“Will you bring me back a sward from war, Papa?  Pretty pwease?”  Oren was seven but still spoke with a sort of odd, yet endearing, lisp, along with mispronunciation of words.  It was just too cute most of the time to try and change, but we were gently trying.

“Sword, Oren, _sword_.”  My old brother Fergus was laughing, crouching down to meet his only child eye to eye.  “The biggest and mightiest one I can find!  I’ll be back before you know it!”

Oriana hadn’t been so certain, disquiet as any worried wife would be.  “Oh don’t frighten the boy, love, I speak the truth!  And here’s my little brother to see me off.  Dry your eyes and wish me well, love~”

“Wait, do you mean me or Oriana?”  Had I been telling a joke back then?  To lighten the mode?  I could do such a thing?

But how Fergus had laughed!  “I meant my wife, but I could give my baby brother a kiss as well!”  He tried to grab my arms, making kissy lips all the while, and finally Oriana smiled.

“Don’t worry, Oriana.  No darkspawn could harm Fergus!”

She had rolled her eyes, hands up in surrender.  “He’s just as mortal as the next man, don’t inflate his belief even more!”  But even she could hide the grin that started, watching two brothers say goodbye simply by wrapping an arm around each other’s shoulders.

“As much as I came to say goodbye, father sent me.  He wants to take the men without him.”

“So the Arl’s men _are_ late.  What, are they walking backwards?”  Fergus sighed.  “Well, with that news and knowing there are so many darkspawn to behead in so little time, I should get underway.”

“I had hoped my dear boy would plan to wait for us before you left!”  Father joked as he and Mother came through the doorway to Fergus’ room.  Mother immediately held her eldest child’s face in her hands, watching his eyes.  “Every day, Fergus.  I’ll pray for your safety every day.”

“Mother!”  Fergus pretended to whine, but just to hide the fact that knowing that meant a lot.  I rested a hand on Oren’s head as Oriana prayed to the Maker, as Fergus jokingly added a request for ale and women, and as Father tried to explain to Oren what a wench was.

“I swear, I live in a pack of just small boys!”  Mother quipped, to which I added, “But Mother, besides from Oriana, you do!”  I ducked away from her glare, laughing.

“I’ll miss you, Mother.  And Koln will be sure to take care of you, won’t you?”

“Of course~  But she can handle herself, always has~”

“That’s for certain!  I can see it, scolding those darkspawn right back into the Deep Roads!”

“I’m glad you two find this so funny!”  But Mother hadn’t been upset, not anymore.  She was our mother, and she knew how Fergus and I could get when together.  It was familiar and comforting to her.

“Enough, enough from all of you!”  Father tried to roar but it only came out as a roar of laughter.  “You have much to do tomorrow, Pup, so you’ll want to get an early night.”

“All right, all right.  Want to see me and Neera off to bed, Oren?”  There are goodbyes you say as a family, and then there are goodbyes that you say as husband and wife.  I wanted Oriana and Fergus to have just a little time for that.  To say goodbye…

“Sure!”  His small hand slipped into mine.  “Mama says you’ll be watching over us while Papa is gone, Uncle.  Does that mean you’ll defend us if the castle is attacked?  Will there be dragons!?  I want to see you fight one…”

“Fergus, this is your fault!”  Oriana’s voice floated after us, and I knew she would be smacking Fergus’ arm. 

Oren looked over his shoulder, until we were far enough away.  “Will you teach me to use a sword, Uncle?  Mama always yells at Papa when I ask him.  I want to fight dire bunnies and darkspawn, like in the stories!  Maybe even with a mabari like yours!”  He rubbed behind Neera’s ears.  While she was my mabari, she knew that my family was my pack and to not hurt them.  She whined happily and licked his cheek.

“If she ever pups, I promise you’ll be the first person who gets to look at them~  As for the sword fighting, let’s see if we can start sneaking lessons here and there.  How’s that?”

How big his eyes had gotten and how big his smile had become.  “Really?  Wow!  Thanks Uncle Kol!”  He hugged my leg before scampering off back to his room.  He always forgot the N in my name.  Maybe I should have let him sleep over in my room that night, or brought a pallet into room.  Something, anything!

But no.  It had been just me curled up on the bed and Neera resting on the floor.  Sleeping through the beginning of the attack.  Would I have slept through it all, slept through my door opening and a knife sliding into my throat.  Neera was the one who saved me, her mabari ears picking up the noise.  She did as any of her kind would do to protect their master, growling and barking at the door, not only to wake me up to try and scare off anyone on the other side of the door.

I can still see it, it keeps replaying and replaying right before my eyes.  The servant’s voice screaming in my ears, trying to find me or my father to alert us.  “The castle is under attack!”  How he stood, just for a moment relieved that he had found me, before arrows suddenly sprouted from his chest and he fell to the floor.  Dead.  Armed men standing behind, steering in triumph and demanding to know where my father was.

There hadn’t been time to think of the how and why.  Just instinct.  Grab sword from the end of the bed, dodge arrows, parry, return attacks of my own.  It wasn’t until I stood over their bodies that I realized the awful truth.  These were _Howe’s_ men!

“Darling!  I heard fighting!  Are you all right?”  It was Mother’s voice that drew me from the shock, her gloved hands sliding over my bare shoulders.  In some other time it might have been comical, my mother armored to the hilt and me in nothing but my smallclothes.  “Your arm!”  There was apparently a cut on my arm, and only hurt when I acknowledged it.  She tied a cloth around it before pushing me back to my room.  “Get your armor on, I’ll guard the door!” 

“What’s going on, Mother?”  Neera guarded me as well, pacing anxiously about my feet as I frantically pulled everything on.

“I don’t know!  A scream woke me up and there were men in the hall, so I barred the door.  Do you see their shields?”

“Yes, those are Howe’s men.”  That same feeling, that some gnawing feeling of I should be realizing something… No!  Like being plunged into an icy well it finally hit me.  “He’s betraying Father!  He’s attacking while the troops are gone!”

“No!”  Mother’s eyes widened, seeing the realization in my eyes and words.  “You think that Howe’s men were delayed…on purpose?  Bastard, if he did this I’ll cut this throat!”  It was only then that her face paled.  “Your father!  He never came to bed!”

“I think he stayed up with…”  I hadn’t been able to say his name then, and I’m barely able to contain my rage saying it now.  Mother was already turning to sprint downstairs when I stopped her.  “Wait!  Oriana and Oren!”

“Andraste’s mercy!  What if they went to your brother’s room first?”  We hoped and prayed that they hadn’t.

But they had.  Dead, just inside the doorway, dragged from their beds.  I don’t even know what wounds killed them.  All I remember was falling to my knees and staring into little Oren’s sightless eyes.   Mother, shocked, her voice a distant muffle as she realized that Howe wasn’t taking hostages.  He was just killing everyone. 

Running through rooms and hallways, slaying whoever tried to attack us.  The roar of battle was everywhere inside the castle.  Part of me screamed to defend the castle, defend my home and people no matter the cost.  But another part of me knew that it everything was lost.  Trying to find soldiers to rally and fight with us, discovering any survivors and directing them to the secret entrance in the larder.  Retrieving the Cousland family sword so it could not fall into Howe’s black hands ( _it’s reserved for his neck, so I can sever his head_ ).  I ached to convince Ser Gilmore to come with us, but I knew him.  He would, and he did, stay behind to hold the gates to give us time to escape.  Told us where he thought Father had gone…

…where he lay in a pool of his blood.  “There you are love, Pup. You’re both…alive.”  Father, the first time I remember him pale and weak.  Struggling to talk, struggling to live.  Someone get a healer, no!, we have no healer!  Nothing, no one!  He wouldn’t even survive standing up!  He words urging at least one of us to go, escape, find Fergus and tell him what happened washed over me.  No!  I would stay and fight!  Defend my parents!

“There is nothing you can do, Pup.  The castle is surrounded…I cannot make it.”  His cold fingers smeared blood as he touched my cheek, trying to smile, trying to stop the tears from my eyes. 

“The teryn is correct.”  I nearly took Duncan head off as I whirled around, thinking it was another of Howe’s soldiers.  He sheathed is sword, covered in blood, looking just as Mother and I must have:  having fought tooth and nail to get here.  “They haven’t discovered this entrance, but it will still be difficult getting past.  We tried to fight to you sooner, Ladyship.”

“Koln protected me, Maker’s praise!”  No, no, no!  Don’t praise me Mother!  I protected you for a little while!  Then all I did was leave you to die with Father!  Cradling Father’s head in her lap, controlling her emotions much better than I.

“There is no…ob..ligation Duncan but…”  Stop Father.  Save your strength, keep yourself from coughing up blood.  “I beg you…get my wife and son out of here…!”

“I will, Lordship.  But there is something I must ask in return.  What is happening here pales in comparison to the evil no loose in the world.”  I wanted to smash Duncan’s face in at the time, and I don’t know what stopped me from doing it.  I understand now what he meant, but then, I did not.  “I came to Highever to find a recruit, and the darkspawn threat demands I leave with one.”

“I…”  The fall, the crush on Father’s face.  But to the understanding, the letting go.  “I understand.”

All I could manage to choke out in protest was “Me?”  Fight Koln, fight them!  Stay!  Protect! 

Duncan voice had been gentle, trying to soothe, trying to make me understand.  “You fought through dozens of Howe’s men to get here.  I think the Maker’s intention is clear.”  He turned back to my Father.  “I will take the terrine and your son to Ostagar to tell Fergus what happened.  Then, Koln will join the Grey Wardens.”

Father’s fading eyes locked with mine.  “So long as justice comes to Howe…I agree.”

I promise Father.  I swear it.  I’ll kill him myself.  I think Duncan offered me a place in the Wardens, and Mother full of uncertainty.  “Our son will not die my Howe’s treachery…  You will live, Koln.  And make your mark on the world.” 

“I…I love you both.  So much…”  Why!  Why of all the things I could have said, all the resistance I could have used to stay with them to protect them? 

Father and Mother.  Left alone.  Only having each other.  Saying their goodbyes as Duncan dragged me away.  Gates cracking, men roaring.  A last whispered goodbye as I left them, where they would die. 

_Where I died as well._

~_~_~

_From the observations of Duncan_

_So Highever has fallen.  Darkspawn I can predict, or at the very least feel some sort of warning.  Men can never be predicted.  One man betraying the other for power, or as I suspect in revenge for some event the Howes thought they suffered by the Couslands generations past._

_I’ve managed not only to pull out, but bring along a strong candidate with me.  Koln, the youngest Cousland child.  I came under the pretense of observing Ser Gilmore (I admit he too was a potential recruit but nowhere near as strong) when in fact I had come for Koln himself.  There is something in this white haired swordsman, this boy just barely standing on the line of manhood…_

_“We will be taking a wide arch to Ostagar, instead of a direct route.  I believe there is another potential recruit in Denerim, and then something alarming that we must check on in the Brecilian Forest before going to the Korcari Wilds.”  I explained to the boy as we fitted two horses we had managed to find some distance from Highever._

_He only nodded, the smallest movement of the head.  He has not said a word since we escaped, and his violet eyes are dull and distant.  He does what I say without question, but goes about almost mechanically.  He eats little and I fear he is getting no sleep.  While I am almost certain Koln will survive the Joining, I am beginning to fear that he will not survive himself._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was originally posted on FF.net, but now I'm working on moving it over here because this is more mature story friendly. 
> 
> I adore Origins and its idea of 6 different beginnings/slightly different reactions based on the character, but they’re basically mutually exclusive. And so I wonder and then started writing how the story might go if there was more than one “Warden” in the story. Three Shards of Fate is the baby of that idea.
> 
> -Koln’s white hair is not quite a “gary stu” move but more of an observation of some of the reactions I noticed during the human noble playthrough. A lot of people recognize the human noble right off the bat (Arl Eamon, at least three nobles in Denerim) which really surprised me. They’re the second child, with their father/older brother in positions much higher than them…do you know what I mean? I understand his being very recognizable in Highever but a lot less so outside of their lands, especially with people who have probably seen them only a few times (think like Loghain, whose only seen your Warden once and yet still recognizes them after what turns out to be a year).  
> So I figured that one of the three wardens I’m writing would need to have something highly recognizeable, and came down to my human noble/main warden (since the others would be recognized simply by race, dwarf/elf, or class like mage) and went for white hair instead of a scar/tattoo.  
> I’ll stop rambling for now~ I’ll hope you keep reading and enjoying!


	2. Prologue:  Saleà Tabris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a little rogue finds his place in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's terrible of me, but Saleà Tabris is probably my favorite of the three wardens.

Glowing emerald eyes pinned him to the ground, immobile without even touching him.  His heart raced in his chest and his breathing picked up.  Habit took in every single detail of the other, and oh how he enjoyed them.  The dusty-pale skin and the strange blue-white raised markings, like tattoos, that started at his chin, traced down his neck, and branched off to his chest and limbs.  But it was if he was a different sort of elf, with wider eyes and longer eyes.  How he was beautiful~

And how he haunted his dreams!  

He reached up a hand and threaded it through his snowy white hair, watching how his own tan skin contrasted vividly.  The strange elf growled, like a wolf, and the markings pulsed with a strange blue light.  He slid his body over his own.  The growl had trailed off into a rough purr as teeth sunk into his neck and sharp hands danced over his naked body.

“Saleà …”  His body jerked and his breath gasped.  His name!  The strange elf knew his name, he had spoken!  And that voice, glorious and rasping over his ears.  He could come just on that voice itself…

“Wake up Saleà!”  Then all of a sudden the voice became female.  A very, very familiar female voice.  The white haired elf looked thoughtfully into the distance, rose, and then all he saw was the wooden rungs on the bunk above his.  Damn it all!  He would have voiced his dual frustrations, but the familiar red hair of his cousin was getting closer to his bed.  “Why are you still in bed?  It’s your big day!”

“Why are you in my room, Shianni?”  Saleà sat up, bending his knees as well in the hope that she hadn’t spotted his…ah…problem yet.  

“Aw, is somebody shy now?”  Giggling, the woman leaned closer and tried to wiggle her fingers against his side.  Saleà smacked her hands away, trying to tickle her in answer to a years old tradition.  Once she caught her breath, Shianni sighed happily and leaned against the bunk.  There was a hint of alcohol on her breath, something he was used to.  “I got your father to let me share the good news!”

“Good news?”  Okay, did he miss something?  Papa hadn’t mentioned anything the night before… Though, he had been watching him with an odd expression all evening before he had gone to bed.

“You do remember what today is, don’t you!?”

He honestly had no idea.  It wasn’t someone’s birthday.  It wasn’t any sort of anniversary.  Nor was it any sort of celebration.   “A summer day?”

“Gah, you’re such an idiot!  It’s your _wedding_ day and Soris’ too!”  She continued on, not noticing the way Saleà ’s eyes widened or how his face paled.  “That’s what I came to tell you.  Your bride, Nesiara, she’s here early!”

That’s why Papa had been watching him last night!  The expression had been sad, sad in that his little boy would be married soon.  And happy, happy that he would be gaining a daughter and grandchildren.  It was why he hadn’t told him but allowed Shianni to do it instead.  Because he knew he wouldn’t blow up in front of his favorite cousin.  Shit.  Shit!  His stomach felt like snow had been packed into it before a hand squeezed around it.  His father had mentioned it in passing a few weeks ago and then said nothing, so he thought the prospect of being forced into the traditional arranged marriage would be weeks, months off.  “I…he arranged a marriage?  But I don’t…”  He looked away, hugging his legs.  “I don’t like the idea…I don’t even know her.”

He had to hide behind that façade, though part of it was in fact true.  His people’s tradition of the parents and/or elders arranging marriages rubbed him the wrong way.  Shouldn’t they be allowed the chance to at least try to find someone for themselves?  But that wasn’t the main reason, not even close:  he wasn’t interested in women.  Saleà had noticed a few years ago that while other elven boys his age were watching girls, he was watching them.  At least until the dreams of the strange white-haired elf started and he had become utterly fixated on him, whoever he was.  

“And who would you marry, Saleà?  You haven’t been holding out on me, have you?”  Shianni looked at him in disbelief but trailed of when she saw how uncomfortable he looked.  “Hey, cheer up.  I snuck a peek at your bride for you and she’s beautiful!  You won’t be alone, either since Soris is getting married as well.  And just think of the music, decorations, feasting!  You know how fun weddings are!  That has to make it easier…right?”

“I guess…”  He looked up, trying to force a smile.  “Hey, want to get married instead, since you find her ‘so beautiful!’ ?”  He imitated her voice, sighing dreamily and throwing a hand against his forehead.

“Ha!  This is your day, not mine~  I’ll stop tormenting you.  There are the other bridesmaids to talk to and I need to find my dress~ And Soris said he’s going to be waiting for you outside, so move it!”  With that, bright Shianni waltzed out of the room.

Once he knew she was out of hearing he flopped back down on his bed.  Married?  A bride?  The very thought of it had chased the lingering arousal of the dream away.  There wasn’t anything he could do, not if this woman who was to be his bride was here and the _whole damn Alienage_ was getting ready for a wedding.  A double wedding!  At least Soris might be happy with the whole thing.  Forcing himself out of bed, Saleà moved to the trunk that held his few possessions.  Folded neatly on top were wedding clothes, red trimmed with black and yellow.  “Well, at least I’ll look good…”  Saleà whispered as he forced himself into the clothes and ran his hands over them.  He slipped a dagger, more from habit than need for protection, under the belt near the small of his back before moving out into the main room of the house.

“Good morning Saleà!”  Cyrion Tabris beamed as he turned from the small kitchen table.  “It’s your big day today!  If only your mother could be here…”  He looked down, silent, and Saleà watched him rub the simple ring he still wore on one of his fingers.

For the briefest moment, anger and resentment rushed so hard through Saleà that he had to clench his hands to keep them still.  _How could you, Papa?  How could you spring this on me, why did you hide it?  Don’t mention Mother!  She wouldn’t have done this to me!_   But then, just as quickly, it slipped away.  This was Papa, and there was no way he could stay angry at him.  _He’s trying to take care of me, like any father…_   

Most people would never have guessed that they were father and son.  Cyrion was pale skinned, just as every other elf in the Alienage was, pale blue eyes, and in his youth his straight hair had been red like the rest of their family.  Saleà, in the starkest contrast, had a tan shade of skin, thick and wavy black hair, and gold eyes.  Papa constantly joked that he was a male version of his mother…  Saleà studied his father’s face.  He took in the now grey hair, the crow’s feet at the edge of his eyes, the creases around his mouth and the lines across his forehead (mostly worry lines that Saleà had most certainly put there).  No, he couldn’t stay angry at the only parent he had left.

“I miss her too…”  He wrapped his arms around his papa, resting his head on his shoulder.  Soon the familiar weight of his arms settled around him.  “Does it…have to be today?  Could I wait a day or two, since she’s early?”

Cyrion sighed, resting a hand on the black waves.  “I know it’s sudden, but I’m sure she’s here early for a reason.  The elder took it in stride.”  Saleà’s ears perked at the slight waver in his papa’s voice, which became more obvious at the mention of the elder.  Odd.  “Maybe there was trouble at the Highever alienage, or her family didn’t want your betrothed traveling later in the season.  Whatever reason, I paid the dowry, we have the Chantry’s permit, and everything worked out fine.”

Saleà leaned back in surprise.  “You paid a dowry for her!?”

Cyrion shook his head.  “It isn’t like that, Saleà.  A dowry is not paying someone for the spouse.  A lot goes into arranged marriages, the biggest being deciding which spouse travels to which alienage.  One side gets new blood and a new member while the other side looses a family member.  The dowry…helps even things out.”  

That…seemed a little better.  “I…don’t want to get married, Papa.”  Would he understand?  Was there any way that maybe he could stop the marriage?

Cyrion laughed, hugging his son around the shoulders.  “I understand.  Before I met Adaia I was ready to go hunt for the Dalish!  Just be glad I chose the match.  Without a parent to represent you, children like Soris end up marrying whoever the elder can find.  Don’t worry,”  He pulled him closer, whispering in his ear even though they were the only two in the house, “I did this for you.  I won’t pick out someone you would never meld with the rest of your life.”

Well…crap.  That was it.  No way out.  

“Thanks, Papa.”  He said softly with a smile.  Even if all of this was nowhere close to what he truly wanted, his Papa loved him.  He couldn’t forget that.  His father hugged him one last time before stepping away.  “Alright, time for you to find Soris.  The sooner this wedding starts the less chance of the two of you bolting.”

He tilted his head innocently.  “Me?  Bolting?”

“I know you, Saleà.  Slick and sneaky as a cat.”  Cyrion sighed and rubbed his neck.  “Speaking of that.  Your martial training… the swordplay, knives, free running, and whatever else your mother trained you in.  Don’t mention it to your betrothed.”

Oh, Saleà could see it now!  Hi there, betrothed.  Want to see how I can throw a knife into a man’s neck at 20 paces?  “She’s going to find out sooner or later.”

“Later.  Definitely later.  We don’t want to seem like troublemakers—“  Cyrion’s voice broke and he turned away.  His hands settled on a small bag setting on the table.  When next he spoke, it was only a little higher than a whisper.  “Adaia make that mistake.”  

His heart tightened at the reminder.  He could see her face as clear as day, even though he had been only seven when she had died.  Dimples when she smiled, gold eyes dancing in firelight, his small hand resting on her forearm to see their similar skin, her slim fingers as she taught him to pick a lock or wield daggers.  For as long as he could remember she would sneak him out some nights to teach him in secret, to watch as she scaled the sheer sides of buildings or leap from rooftop to rooftop with ease.  Unconsciously, his fingers brushed against the arched tattoos that his mother marked beneath his eyes the very day she died.  “She was a clever rogue…and an even better mother…”

“Yes, that she was…”  Cyrion finally opened the bag and revealed a pair of boots.  Saleà sucked in a breath; worn in, lightly embroidered, the same color and shape, his mother’s boots!  “Your mother would have wanted you to have these.  It’s the very least I can give you for your new life.”  He took in a breath, in a moment his voice changing from whimsical to practical.  “Go on then.  I have things to do and Soris is waiting.”

Saleà nodded in agreement before excitedly sitting down to pull on the boots.  They fit, just his size!  While elves preferred to walk barefoot, a lot of the time it wasn’t practical in the alienage.  Sometimes due to weather, other times to…other things.  He ran his hands over the embroidery, closing his eyes and feeling his mother for just a moment.  There was even a spot to hide a knife!  He slipped it from his belt to the boot and left.  

Finding Soris should have been simple and direct but it wasn’t.  Weddings were one of the few celebrations that allowed their community to celebrate.  This, of course, meant alcohol, which quite a few were already drinking.  He had at least 40 copper thrust into his hands with smiles, back thumps, and half verses of old songs.  But it was familiar and comforting, this community he had grown up in.  Another surprise came when he ran across an elf pair who had been friends of his mother’s, who had given him 15 silver as a wedding present.  In turn he gave most of it to another friend, Nessa, so that she and her parents could buy a new house and start a business after being forced out of their old one.  

He finally found him off by himself, pacing like a trapped dog.  “Well, if it isn’t my lucky cousin!  Care to celebrate the end of our independence together?”

“Sure!  If by celebrate you mean run~”

“Are you crazy!?  Where would you go?  The woods to live with the Dalish?”  Soris grabbed his arm and tugged him away.  Saleà sighed.  He figured Soris wouldn’t have run with him anyway.  As much as he loved his other cousin, Shianni had more balls than him.  “Why would you run?  Your bride’s a dream come true while mine?  Sounds like a dying mouse…”

“Looks aren’t everything, Soris…”  _Just like how gender shouldn’t mean everything.  Or how we shouldn’t do things just because it’s tradition._   These thoughts Saleà kept to himself.

“You’re right.  She’s not ugly… I don’t know…”  Soris looked at him.  His eyes asked for answers.  Reassurance.  He was just as scared and uncertain as he was.  Saleà clapped him on the back.  “Probably just your nerves.”

“I guess.  I can’t blame you though.  You know my friend Taeodor?  And his two younger brothers?”

“Yes, Lil and Pol?”

“They ran off to find the Dalish, though he thinks they’ll be back in a few days—“

The light mood shattered as an elf woman, wearing a bridesmaid dressed, stumbled past screaming.  A bolt ran through Saleà’s body, readying him for action.  He spotted the source immediately:  a group of richly dressed humans harassing the bridal party.  His pointed ears caught snatches of what seems to be the leader’s outward musings, “grab a whore” “savor the hunt” and “like this wench, so young and vulnerable”…  Shianni!  He was looking at Shianni as he said it!  Saleà marched forward, ignoring Soris’ sputtering for him to stop.

“Pig!  Touch me and I’ll _gut_ you!”  Shianni stood her ground, and he was proud of her.  He couldn’t say the same for her brother, who tried to appease the human and received a backslap that knocked him to the ground in return.  

“Saleà!”  Soris finally grabbed his arm and halted his march.  “I know what you’re thinking, but maybe…we shouldn’t get involved?”

He turned on his cousin in disbelief.  Soris just wanted them to stand there?  “I won’t let him abuse our people!  No, I’m helping.”

“Fine, but let’s try to be diplomatic?”

_Sure, as diplomatic as making him stare down my blade if he doesn’t leave them alone._

The human spotted them immediately.  His dark grin turned even darker as he took in their clothes.  “Well well!  The two grooms are coming to greet me personally!”  He stopped in front of Saleà, looking down with mocking eyes that excepted him to turn away.  He might be smaller as an elf, only up to his chest, but he wasn’t backing down.  He locked eyes, daring him to touch him or the women again.  

Saleà was sure to keep his voice even when he finally spoke.  “You will leave at once.”

A laugh burst from one of the human’s companions.  “You hear that Vaughn?”  Oh great, a leader with a bunch of lackeys either for ego or to egg him on.

The man scoffed, “Do you have any idea who I am?”

He also made sure not to move his eyes as he saw a flash of decision come across Shianni’s face and saw her run to grab something.  “It doesn’t mean anything if you’re the king himself, you have no right to force yourself on someone else.”

“Now isn’t that a laugh! A knife ear trying—“  

Crack!

And the man crumbled to the ground as the whiskey jug shattered over his head.  “Are you insane!?  That’s Vaughn Urien, the arl of Denerim’s son!”

“W-what?”  Shianni turned pale, hands flying to her mouth.  “Oh Maker!”  

Saleà stepped between her and the human’s friends, to protect her in the event of retaliation.  “Maybe his father should have taught him better manners.”  

Two of the humans grabbed the unconscious man while another took a step forward, trying to look threatening.  “You’ve some nerve, knife ears!  This will go badly for-“

It took only one step forward with the air of coming after him and the human fled.  He turned to Shianni, touching her arms and face to make sure she wasn’t harmed.  “Don’t worry, he won’t tell anyone that an elven woman took him down. “

“Is everybody else alright?”  Soris asked and Saleà turned to see that two women had joined them.  One was rather homey and plain, while the other might be considered beautiful (she was but all Saleà could do was stare at her green, _green!,_ eyeshadow).

The first talked in a high, almost squeaky voice.  “What was that about?”

Soris laughed nervously, the action making his voice almost as squeaky.  “Too early drinking for the arl’s son it looks like…  But let’s not let it ruin the day!”  He turned to Saleà, motioning to the first elf woman.  “This is Valora my, uh, betrothed.”

“And I’m Nesiara, your betrothed~!”  The second elf woman added, moving closer.  “Oh, to finally see you with my own eyes…Soris said so much about you!”

“Don’t get me in trouble Nesiara.  We’ll leave you two alone.”

Oh crap, no don’t leave me alone with--  Okay, okay.  Stay calm.  If she’s going to be with me the rest of my life, I can’t be like this.  Try to like her.  Get to know her at the very least.

“Well, here we are.”  Nesiara started slowly to get the conversation going.  “Are you nervous?”

Saleà chuckled.  “Yeah, I think I have butterflies in my stomach…”

“I understand.  My stomach was in knots the whole way here.”  She moved even closer, hands moving in a hesitant way until she wrapped one of her arms around one of his.  Then she rested her head on his shoulder!  “I think I’ll like Denerim.  Highever wasn’t so bad, depended on the humans you ran into to, but I think here it’s so big the humans leave us alone.”

Saleà wanted to shake her.  Did you not just see what happened?  Why are you cuddling me, you barely know me!  Let’s get to know each other at the very least… He nearly said something but wisely kept his mouth shut, a wise choice it turned out when he found out that an unknown male elf that resembled Nesiara ran to her side.  It turned out to be her brother, Nelaros, who had escorted her from Highever and would return after the wedding.  _Oooo, can I get a return and switch her out for him?  He’s not bad looking~  And look at those arms, blacksmith if I’m not mistaken.  No.  Bad Saleà.  Bad._   

Soris finally came to his rescue.  “Come on cousin.  We should let them get ready.”

“Don’t disappear on us~”  Valora smiled at Soris, and Nesiara added, with an almost evil giggle. “Or we’ll hunt you down!”

Nelaros groaned in embarrassment and slapped his forehead.  He turned to Saleà with an apologetic, and cute, smile.  “Sorry about her.  She’s nervous and she gets possessive when she’s like that.”

“That’s allright.”  _It’s totally allright and I will so save up money so when she wants to visit Highever I can come and see you~_   “You should go.  She should have her brother near.”  He watched him leave, leaning to watch his body move.

A groan from Soris brought him back to reality.  “Can’t we get any breaks?  Two more problems just walked in…”  Saleà turned and followed his cousin’s line of sight.  Two people stood at the edge of the Vhenadahl tree clearing.  The first was an older male human, dressed in grey armor with a sword and crossbow on his back.  He had no helmet and carried himself with ease; he didn’t look like a city guard but he also looked like someone who had been in the alienage before.  At his side was a cloaked figure.  He was just as tall, but slimmer, so most likely it was a younger man.  A warrior, since every now and then the cloak would shift to reveal light armor and a sword at his side.  What did they want and why would one want to hide his appearance.

“I don’t know if they’re Vaughn’s or just random troublemakers but we need to get them out before someone does something stupid.”  It was true.  The elves mistrust of the humans was usually pretty well founded, whether from swindling, attacks, or their haughty superiority they thought they had over the elves.  His mother had taught him that not all humans were liked that and he tried to honor what she had taught him, even if that meant staying his blade and keeping his mouth shut for a moment to actually hear what the human said first.

The older human smiled politely and actually bowed as they approached.  “Good day, I understand congratulations are in order for your impending wedding.”

Saleà liked him immediately.  But it was strange.  The man didn’t look at Soris, only him.  “Thank you.  Do you have some sort of business here?”

“I do.  However I think I have found what I was seeking.”

“And what might that be?”

“That is my business.”

“Then you should get—Ow!”  Saleà stomped on Soris’ foot to keep him quiet, his eyes never leaving the strange human’s.  He was testing him!  The way he kept his words neutral and the way his eyes looked to take in his reactions, both facial and body.  

“I’m sorry, but I have no intention of leaving.”  He was!  So Saleà played in return.

“Fine.  Maybe we can come to some sort of compromise?”  He couldn’t help smiling a little.

And the strange man laughed, realizing his game was up.  “He keeps his composure, facing down an armed and unknown human with a companion.  A true gift, Valendrian.”

The two elves looked in surprise as their elder walked up to the man.  “I still believe the world has far more use of those who know how to stay their blades.  It has been far too long, it’s good to see you old friend.”

“You know him, elder?”  Soris asked nervously.  

“May I present Duncan, head of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden.”

Saleà’s eyes widened in realization.  “The order of great warriors sworn to protect the world from darkspawn?”  Yes!  This could be his ticket out of a wedding he did not want at all.

“Yes, Saleà.”  Their elder turned back to Duncan.  “But that still leaves my question:  Why are you here, Duncan?”

As the older man, Duncan, answered that a Blight had begun and the human king was summoning warriors to fight at Ostagar, Saleà kept his eyes on the still cloaked human.  He had yet to move or speak.  The hood was pulled too far forward to see much, but Saleà’s keen eyes could pick out flashes of stark white hair and unfocused eyes.  He looked…sad.  Broken.  

But his attention turned back to the two conversing men as Valendrian spoke.  The elder’s voice and choice of words were…strange.  How he strained that it was a wedding, two weddings in fact.  Like he was trying to keep something from happening, or speed something up.  “I see.  Then, by all means, attending to your ceremonies.  My concerns can wait…for now.”

“Very well.  Children, treat Duncan and his companion as my guests.  And take your places!”  The elder made shooing motions with his hands and left for the wedding stage.

“Yes elder, sorry elder!”  Soris apologized and moved to follow him.  Saleà nodded politely to both Duncan and his companion.  There was something…familiar about the Grey Warden.  Not that he had seen him before, more like he had heard of him before.  But where?

Duncan finally turned to his companion, his voice dropping to a softer tone.  “Come, Koln.  Let’s move somewhere out of the way.”

Koln barely nodded, but then lifted his head.  His eyes flickered to Saleà for a moment, recognition in his eyes.  Had he lost a parent too?  It must have been recently.  Was he a Grey Warden recruit?  It could explain why he was with Duncan.  Then Soris dragged him to the wedding platform and Saleà couldn’t think anymore.  He moved automatically, the words just following around him without really listening.  He nearly panicked and bolted from the stage.  Then Saleà closed his eyes, took a breath.  He pretended it wasn’t some basically-a-stranger elf woman standing next to him, but the strange elf from his dreams.  He stood tall and proud, a look on his face of satisfaction.  Had he won Saleà away from someone else?  The elf slipped his hand into his, revealing that the strange markings were on his palms and rose, leaning close to whisper his plans for after the wedding.  It made him safe, calm even.

That was until the humans came back.  Focus came back as they climbed the stage uncontested and starting grabbing women.  Why was nobody stopping them?  His blood ran cold as he went right for Shianni.  Bastard, there was no way he would take his cousin!  Then he turned to them, what was his black name, Vaughn?

“What’ll we do?”  Soris panicked as the human, what was his black name?  Vaughn?, got closer.  

“Soris!  They’re taking Shianni!”  He widened his stance, angling his leg so he could pull his dagger from his boot quickly.  He stood his ground as, again, Vaughn stood right in front of him.

“You!  Uppity runt who thinks he’s worthy of speaking to me.  Don’t worry, I’ll return your ‘bride’, or whatever is left in time for the honeymoon. “

“You have no right to do this!”  His blood was hot now.  Blazing. 

Vaughn’s voice dropped to his own deadly level.  “Every time a knife-ear says that, it makes me smile.”  And how he smiled, the corners of his lips curling.

Knife-ear?  I’ll show you a knife!  Where would you like it?  Your gut, a leg, how about a sword arm, or a throat?  He was so concentrated on Vaughn he only caught his lackey coming up from the side at the last second.  A fist smashed into the side of his head and he dropped like a stone.  His vision blurred and his hearing distorted.  If he hadn’t moved his head he would have blacked out at such a hit.  He felt someone leap up onto the stage, yelling, and stand over him protectively.  Blinking, his eyes focused enough to see a cloak shoved aside and a sword drawn, swung!, white hair catching in the sun.  Saleà tried to turn, get his feet under him, but it made his head swim.  All he could do was watch with blurry eyes as the humans bolted from the stage, elf women being dragged behind them or slung over their shoulders.

“Are you allright?”  Saleà blinked and all at once his sight and hearing returned.  Koln has kneeling next to him, hastily pulling his hood back into place, but he had seen not only his hair that was indeed pure white but also his violet eyes that sparked with abrupt life.  Soris was on his other side, “Cousin!  Can you hear me?”

“Yes, Soris, yes!  Stop shaking and let me up!”  Saleà pushed himself to his feet, stumbling as the move made his head swim again.  “The women, are they alright?”

Koln answered first.  His voice started and stopped like someone who had not spoken in a long time.  “No.  That man took the women in your wedding party in the direction of the palace.”

“The elder is talking to that Grey Warden, Duncan.  Everyone is getting upset.”  And they were upset, crowding around the elder in a tight circle.  Some wanted nothing to do with the events, pointing out that it would make matters worse.  Yet others opposed them; they had to get the women back!  Saleà had to agree with them but kept his inner thoughts of _Well why didn’t you stop them before they left?_ secret.  

“Normally, I’d counsel patience.  But the stories about the arl’s son and his appetites are…most disturbing.”

“Then we go do something.  Now.”  Saleà crossed his arms and stood his ground against those opposed to the idea.  Yes the place would be guarded despite the arl and his knights gone, but it was still a perfect chance.  He agreed with the elf that worked as a servant there, who could sneak maybe two people in.  No one would notice an extra pair of elf servants since they were all so readily ignored.  Get in, rescue the girls, get out.  The only two elves that volunteered to go with him were Nelaros and Soris (who he had to practically drag with him). 

But first, intel.  “Can you tell me anything about Vaughn?”  He asked the Grey Warden, who had once again moved off to the side.  While a few of the more drunken elves were harassing the two humans, they recognized that these were humans carrying weapons.  

To his surprise it was Koln who answered.  “He’s wild from the rumors I heard, and a very poor heir.  As for a fight, I saw him in a few of the tournaments.  He knows how to use a sword to get by and defeat opponents; however, I highly doubt he’s ever seen real combat.”  The violet eyes flashed, passing along a message without having to say the words.  “Use that to your advantage.”

The human moved his cloak and drew his sword, holding the hilt out to Saleà.  “Use this, you’ll need a weapon.”

Saleà smiled, taking the blade before grabbing the dagger from his boot.  “I’ll use it well.”  Duncan stepped forward with a weapon as well; a crossbow for Soris.

“Are you prepared for what you are about to do?”  The older man asked as he handed it over.

“Yes.  However…”  Saleà hesitated.  “I know it is not the time for place but can I ask now why you are here?”

Duncan sighed in understanding.  “To find recruits.  I came here hoping to speak to you, but your elder out maneuvered me.  I suspect this is why your wedding was moved forward; in hopes that I would let you remain.  Valendrian did the same thing when I came to recruit your mother.”

“Hold on, Soris!  I want to ask him something.”  He had a suspicion, a sneaking revelation at the back of his mind.  Duncan.  A Grey Warden.  So familiar… A story from his mother, perhaps?  But he had to find out without asking directly.  “How…do you and the elder know each other?”

 “You tried recruiting my mother?”  That was it!  He couldn’t remember it, exactly, a story told only once or twice when he was smaller.  _…but I don’t mind.  If I had gone, I wouldn’t have had my most precious gift._

“I did, your mother was a fiery and skilled woman.  She would have made an excellent Grey Warden.  It seems that she has passed that training onto you… but we’ll speak of your future later.  See to the task at hand.”

~*~*~*~*

A few hours later found the task done, with many men dead.  They had rescued the women…all save one.  Saleà shivered at the memory of finding the three guards laughing over her dead body, contemplating on whether she was still fuckable.  He didn’t realize until he was standing alone, Soris staring at him with wide eyes, that he killed all three by himself.  Slitting throats, shattering limbs.  Then that Vaughn.  Maker, he wished he could revive the pig just to gut him again!  Once the coward had realized that he really could be defeated, he’d try to offer him a deal!  40 sovereigns for him to leave Vaughn alive and to leave Denerim, and the women would be returned _the next morning_!  He already knew that if he killed Vaughn it might lead to trouble for the Alienage and his people, but when he looked past into Shianni’s eyes… so wide and scarred and wanting to go home…blood around her legs…he couldn’t let them live.  

Saleà swallowed as he finished washing the rest of the blood of and dressed in his regular clothes.  Quietly, he moved towards his father’s bed where they had put his cousin.  Shianni was curled under the blankets, biting her knuckles to keep from crying.  He settled on the edge of the bed, saying no words, only taking her hand in his.  

“You’re amazing, you know that right?”  

He smiled softly, “I just did what did to be done, to keep you safe.  How are you holding up?”

“I’m…okay.  As far as the others know, I was just…roughed up a bit.”  She swallowed and tried to stop her body from shaking.  “I just don’t want…to be treated like some fragile glass doll.”

He leaned down and hugged her, and she clung to him.  He would keep her secret.  “You’re strong Shianni.  You have me.  If you need to rest, to hide for a little bit, to have someone support you for even a moment.  I’ll be here.”

“Sorry for…messing things up with your betrothed.”

Saleà scoffed,  “If that’s what she’s really like, I don’t want her.”  When Soris had found the other women, Nesiara had rushed at him, making him nearly drop Shianni, fluttering happily that he had come for her.  He had politely told her that he had come for everyone and she had been quiet the rest of the way home.  When he had come to see his cousin after explaining what had happened, she had been cold and standoffish, taking Valora with her so they could ‘leave him alone with the only woman he cares about’. 

Shianni jumped as a knocked pounded against the door before Soris burst in.  “Saleà!  You have to get out here, the guards are here!”

“And I’ll bet five silver it’s because the arl’s son is dead and not because our women were kidnapped.   Stay here Shianni, you’ll be safe.”  He slipped back into his boots and hid the dagger there before following his other cousin back outside.  Indeed a crowd of guards had gathered and seemed to be confronting the elder.  Duncan and Koln stood at his side.  

“Don’t play ignorant with me!  You won’t prevent justice from being done.  The arl’s son lies dead in a river of blood that runs the entire palace!  I need names.  Now!”  Saleà could feel the elves shift nervously around him, whispering softly back and forth.  Even those who didn’t know it was him and Soris who had done it figured it was him.  What would happen, what could he do?  Stay silent and hope they wouldn’t hurt people?  Allow Soris and him to be exposed.  No, he couldn’t drag Soris into this.

So Saleà stepped forward.  “It was me.”

“Saleà!  No!”  Soris whispered frantically, but Cyrion’s grip kept him from moving.  He didn’t need to turn to see the look of horror in his eyes.  Or how he fought every fiber of a father’s instinct to rush forward and protect their child.

“You expect me to believe one man did all of that?”  But as the head guard washed his eyes over him, the expression of disbelief turned one of belief.  “However…you have saved many by coming forward.  I don’t envy your fate, but…I applaud your courage.”  He became a guard once more and turned with an authoritative air to the rest.  “This elf will be thrown into the dungeon until the arl returns.  The rest of your back to your houses!” 

“Captain?  A word, if you please.”  Saleà blinked in shock as Duncan stepped forward.  Why?  What could he do?

“What is it, Grey Warden?  The situation is under control.”

“Be that as it may, I hereby invoke the Right of Conscription.  I remove this prisoner into my custody.”

The captain floundered and cursed vividly.  “But…you can’t--!  Very well.  I cannot challenge your rights, but I’ll ask one thing:  Get this elf out of the city.  Today.”

“Of course.”  They watched as the guards turned and left, most growling at their lack of a prisoner to punish.  “You’re with me now, Saleà.  Say your goodbyes.  We have to leave immediately.”

Saleà stood for a moment until he remembered to breath.  One moment he was resigned to life (or more likely death) as a prisoner, and the next he’s conscripted into the Grey Wardens.  Soris rushed to him, hugging him as he expressed his gratitude for not being exposed.  He could barely catch his cousin’s words as he vowed to change, settled down and marry.  Saleà wished him well.  

“Oh child…”  His father’s arms wrapped around him next.  “If this is what the Maker has planned for you… Your mother would have been pleased.”

Saleà swallowed and suddenly the thought of having to leave his father was a terrifying thing.  “I’m sorry, Papa.”

“I wish there was another way.  I dreamed of grandchildren, family gatherings and…Ah, this isn’t helping.  I’m sorry.  Take care of yourself.  Be strong.  And wise.  Never forget that you’re my son.  And…well, you know.  We’ll all miss you.”  Cyrion turned so his son wouldn’t see the tears in his eyes, but he did.  With one last hug, he left slowly for his house, unable to look back.

Valendrian sighed.  “I guess Duncan got his recruit after all.”

“Elder?  Was that why you moved my wedding forward?”  He didn’t want his farewell to the elder, someone he viewed like a grandfather, to be on a sour note.  But he had to know.

“You’ve…always been so strong, such an amazing fighter.  I thought we might get you into the town guard or...”  He sighed, unable to hide it any longer.  “I panicked when Duncan sent word he was returning and looking for recruits.  Yes, to be a Grey Warden is noble, but the path is lonely and painful.  I had your best interests in mind…I hope you understand.”

“I understand, elder.”  He did.  Even though he spoke of other things, Valendrian sounded truly sorry that he had tried to do the same thing to Saleà that he had done to his mother.

The elder sighed again but this time as if a burden had been slipped from his shoulders.  He rested a hand on Saleà’s head in blessing before he left.  “You are generous to be so forgiving.  Maker keep you, child.”  

He turned to join the Grey Warden when a familiar running gait caught his ears, a running female elf that shouldn’t be out of bed. He whirled and there Shianni was, her face a mix of anxiousness and fury.    
“Saleà?  Saleà hold on, you ass!”  She grabbed his arms, shaking.  “You took all the blame and got yourself conscripted into the Grey Wardens?  Why do all the cool things happen while I’m gone?”

“I’ll miss you too, Shianni.”  To see Shianni convincingly act like her usual self was comforting.  “Take care of everyone for me, and that means you too.”

“Of course I will!  Now you go out there and save the world or whatever it is you Grey Wardens do.”  Then her eyes softened and her hands slide to his face.  “They'll write legends about you someday. When the world was at its darkest, there you came, fire in your eyes like something out a storybook.”

~_~_~_~

_From the observations of Duncan_

_So I have my second recruit, Saleà Tabris.  I had already thought that someone as talented as Adaia would have passed her talents onto her children, and indeed she had.  His talents preceded him and seemed well known in his community, to the point that his elders tried to keep it either suppressed or within their own community.  I cannot blame them.  Though, there is something about this elf…_

_While he might play a part in coming events, it’s as if I can see him stepping beyond them and becoming the key to solution of something else.  It could just be an old man becoming whimsical._

_But there is some bright news:  Koln is talking.  Being around Saleà has seemed to have awakened the boy.  His eyes are alight with attention and finally seeing the world, taking things in instead of letting them wash over him.  Perhaps he has found a twin soul in Saleà in that they have both lost a parent, or it could be as simple as he now has someone to protect.  Saleà is more than capable to do this himself but the two are allready fast friends.  We have only to travel to the Brecilian Forest before arriving at Ostagar.  I have a foreboding sense of darkness there where it should not be._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! For some reason I could not keep this one as short as Koln’s chapter. His was only 9 pages while Saleà’s is pushing 15. So, players well versed in the Dragon Age universe might pick up several hints in this chapter of what I’m planning for Saleà and also some connections I found between some of the origins/later in the game/gone on to the next game.
> 
> Also, pretend that Adaia had black hair. The Adaia seen in the Leliana’s Song DLC is indeed the same Adaia that mother’s the City Elf, and oddly, she’s like one of only three elves in both games that are tan. The rest are pale.


	3. Prologue:  Ceremal Mahariel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the last warden is introduced, love is lost, and brothers found.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut at the beginning :D

Nimble fingers danced over the strong form of the back that rocked over him.  Gods above, how he had ached for Tamlen all these weeks!  How his eyes secretly watched his smooth movements as he walked or worked about camp.  Ceremal had nearly broken during the week when they had practiced archery together, when he had helped the other elf with a form.  His hands had lingered on his hips, itching to see if Tamlen could concentrate during a handjob.  

But now he had the other elf, his love, to himself.  Ceremal couldn’t take his eyes off Tamlen.  The short haired elf was arched back like a bow, riding him with abandon, so hard that flesh smacked against flesh.  His cock was hard and straight, bouncing a little as Tamlen left it free.  Ceremal purred and wrapped his fingers around it, letting it thrust in his hand.  His heart began to ache just as that feeling pooled in his groin.  They need this:  to be one again for a brief moment.  “Are you as close as I, _emma lath_?  Will you come with me?”

Tamlen, unable to form words, gasped his agreement as he came hard and fast, his movements freezing. Ceremal arched underneath him, buried in as deep as possible as his seed spilled from him. His hands slide to Tamlen's back as the elf collapsed atop his chest. Both panted for breath and touched as much skin to the other as their bodies slowly began to function normally again.

Tamlen moved first. He pushed up enough to look down at his friend and lover's face. Ceremal looked back at him with warm, sated pools of deep blue, already half closed. It was a ritual now in the way that his hands moved to touch the strange blue-silver hair that pooled beneath Ceremal's head having been freed from its high ponytail during their love making. To his eyes the strands glowed though his mind told him it was the light from the full moon that must be causing it. Finally, leaning closer, he slowly placed kisses along his vallaslin, the marking starting at the tip of his nose and traveling upwards until it ended in a bloom across his forehead. The marking was almost the exact same shade as his hair. He felt his lover's forehead crinkle in a smile before they were rolled to their sides and nuzzled into the blankets.

"I suppose its back to hunting tomorrow." Ceremal whispered thoughtfully. Both knew he was right. It was their duty as hunters to bring back food for their people. But on the other hand…moments like these were so few and far in between. They had to be careful with their relationship. The clan saw them as childhood friends even closer than blood brothers. What they hadn't, and could never, seen was along the way friendship had blossomed into something else. While not expressly forbidden, couplings between elves of the same gender might has well been. It was deeply frowned upon by the people who thought it was their duty to continue the race by as many people as possible. Ceremal sighed and drew the blanket over them. He knew and understood it was their duty as Dalish males…but when it came down to it, could he really leave Tamlen? No. That is a thought for another day.

* * *

There was no step in between as Ceremal shot to a sitting position. One moment he was asleep and the next he was awake. Alert. It came from the hum of the ground below him. It came from the creak-whisper of trees over his head. It came from the fact that the forest animals and birds were all but silent around him.

Tamlen was a few steps out of their makeshift camp, clothing and armor donned with an arrow knocked in his bow. He knew it couldn't be deer and Tamlen's silent whisper confirmed it: three Shemlen. Now that he knew what to listen for, Ceremal himself could hear the ungraceful pounding of feet and the lumbering of bodies through underbrush. A nod of acknowledgement sent Tamlen down the hill to confront them and Ceremal quickly getting dressed and armed.

An odd sound came from his side before something bumped against his elbow, yet Ceremal wasn't alarmed at all. He turned and rubbed a hand along Sulahn's muzzle to her forehead. The smile that always came to Ceremal's face at the presence of the halla disappeared as he felt her anxiety flow through the touch. Not safe. Change. Remain here.

"Do not worry, Sulahn." He leaned his forehead against hers as he tried to sooth her. The female halla had come to him as long as he could remember, a loner, belonging to neither a wild herd or the herd that helped them move their landships. She came and went as she pleased, but was never far away. "They won't hurt you. I would never allow it."

Sulahn rattled her antlers and pawed at the ground, moving so she was between him and the direction of the intruders and tried to nude him in the opposite direction. Again a wave of tense anxiety rolled between them. "You don't want me to go? But Tamlen is there. I must protect Tamlen, as I would protect you. Stay here. I will be right back." He kissed her brow before slinging his quiver over his back and creeping down the hill. The halla stood at the crest to watch him go, and the sense of doom only grew stronger the farther he went.

"—you have no right to stop us!"

"No, I do not? Funny, I think differently. Perhaps we will have to see about that." Tamlen's voice was smooth with confidence. The humans, though unarmed, thought that they were only up against one elf. Ceremal could help but smile as their faces paled as he slowly slides to his companion's side, bow taunt and ready. "I found them running and lurking about the bushes. Bandits is what I'm thinking."

"They're the most poorly formed bandits we've seen yet. And without weapons to boot." Ceremal was careful to keep his eye on the three as they talked.

"But we're not bandits!" One shrieked. "Please don't hurt us…" One human hide behind the other two, face in his hands, probably pretending that if he couldn't see the elves, they couldn't see him.

"Pathetic shemlen. To think you drove us from our homeland." Tamlen's words practically dripped venom and he inched closer, bow still trained. Ceremal followed, mainly to keep his friend and lover covered. A small part tried not to admit he also kept stride with the elf to keep him from killing the humans on the spot.

"Bu-but we didn't do anything to you Dalish!" The shrieky human from before shrieked again. "We didn't know this forest was yours!"

Ceremal rolled his eyes and sighed. The humans never seemed to understand the Dalish free movement over forest and lands. Everything had to be owned by someone in their minds. "Fool! The forest isn't ours. You've just stumbled a bit too close to our camp."

"And you can't trust vermin not to make mischief." Tamlen finished. His tone turned from one of harsh power to one of playful control as the words turned to him. "So _lethallin_ ~ Any ideas what we should do with them?"

The only thing for sure was that they, or rather, Tamlen, couldn't kill the humans. Even with the amount of bad experiences and blood there was between the two races, the only thing killing could accomplish would be to make things worse. It was something that Ceremal understood and Tamlen did not. How well they worked together shone in moments like this: where one could calm the other, when the calm mind of Ceremal could temper the hot flame in Tamlen. "I would like to find out what they're doing here."

"What does it matter?" He growled, flashing blazing eyes at him for a brief second. He didn't need to turn to see it. He could almost feel the heat. "Banditry or flower skipping, we have to move the camp now if we let them live."

"And we'd have to move the camp, either now or eventually, if we killed them. You. Talk." The shifted the arrow from a position to be easily fired at any of the three humans to just one, sighting down the arrow to his heart.

"Cave! We just found a cave!"

"Yes! And ruins like I've never seen!"

"We thought there would be…you know…"

Tamlen scoffed. "Treasure. So we got thieves instead of bandits."

Ceremal agreed with him and took a purposeful step forward. "You should come up with something more believable if you are going to lie. We know this forest. The caves here hold no ruins."

"I-I-I have proof!" One human frantically dug at his pocket and dared a step closer. An object appearing in his flailing arm. A smooth stone with carvings dancing across the surface. Under Ceremal's protection Tamlen lowered his bow and took the object. "These carvings… is this elvish? Written elvish!" Tamlen's tone of surprise even made Ceremal take a second glance at the stone.

"How can you tell that's elvish?" Ceremal couldn't help the small thrill that ran through him despite the possible threat from the three humans. Their language was only ever spoken. Its writing counterpart had been lost to them centuries past…

"I've seen something like it among the Elder's scrolls…" For a brief moment Tamlen's voice was pure awe. Then he turned, once again voice harsh and eyes burning, on the humans. "And this is all you found? Why didn't your greedy eyes and hands look for more?"

"There was a demon!"

"It was huge, with black eyes!"

"Thank the Maker we out ran it!"

The two elves passed an incredulous look between them. "A demon, really? And this cave is where?"

"Just off to the west, I think. There's a cave in the rock face, and a huge hole just inside." Really? That was the best they could come up with? Could humans not tell the direction they had just run from? And which was it: a cave or a hole? The possibility of a trap buzzed around Ceremal's mind. It was as he said. He knew these woods well. He could walk and run and climb it in his sleep. How could a ruin appear from nowhere?

But it wasn't just that. Something creeped up Ceremal's spine. A feeling. An instinct. _Wrong. Just wrong somehow._

"Well? Do you trust them? Shall we let them go?" Tamlen offered, his tone readily revealing that after playing with the idea he wanted to kill the humans.

There were possibilities to consider. The three could return to their human village and form a mob to drive the Dalish out, so it might be better to kill them. But if they did, the humans could still find out (or not, they would take an excuse) and the same could occur. They could kill one instead; leaving the others to make sure no one else would come. That was just as fickle.

Before Tamlen could react Ceremal released his first arrow and quickly did the same with two more. The first took out a chunk of one human's ear, the second slashed a man's cheek, and the final cut into the side of the last man's neck. He kept his hard eyes on them. Silent. Letting the realization sink in that as just as easily as he had scared them, he could have killed them. "You should run now. And if just _have_ to return, it had better not be until we have moved on."

The humans didn't need to be told twice, scrambling away in the opposite direction. Tamlen's nose wrinkled as he caught the smell of urine in the air from where a man had soiled himself. "Want to see if there's any truth in this? As much as I'm loathe to follow a human, the writings make me curious…"

The feeling of wrong clenched around Ceremal's heart. "I'm not sure. I have a bad feeling about this…"

Tamlen laughed. "What? You're scared of this 'demon'? You know how skittish and easily scared shems are. It's probably a bear. I'll go in first if you want, so you can have something to hide behind at the scary things that pop out."

Ceremal mock glared as Tamlen stowed his bow on his back and took out his daggers instead. Tamlen's curious, playful attitude helped drive away the awful feeling. But only a little. He could feel it darting at the edge of his mind, like a word you're trying to think of sits at the edge of a tongue. The laughter suddenly died and Ceremal looked up to find the other elf giving him a glare of his own. But it wasn't anger. It was…jealously and want. "What?"

"They saw your hair down." Tamlen stepped closer, freeing his hands by sheathing the weapons. He moved behind the taller man and was soon picking bits of forest debris from the blue-silver strands or combing it with his fingers. He couldn't help how his eyes fluttered shut at the ministrations. He turned to damn goo every time someone touched his hair or scalp. "No one gets to see your hair down. Not even the camp. Only me. _Me_."

"You, jealous of shemlen?" It was Ceremal's turn to laugh even as his body sang at the jealous tone in the elf's voice. Tamlen gave a sharp tug as he gathered most of the long hair into a high ponytail, leaving just enough for a thick lock to fall from behind each ear to over his shoulders and another, smaller lock to be braided in front of the ears to frame his face. "You should know that the state of my hair means nothing to me if it means getting to your side faster. To keep you safe."

Tamlen flushed at the soft words and his fingers lingered against Ceremal's high cheek bones. "Let's go find this mysterious cave then.

And find it they did, surprisingly just where the humans said it would be. And there was a hole just inside the entrance. For a brief moment all Ceremal could sense was pure darkness. _Pure evil. Lurking. Waiting. Just waiting_. And the image of darkness rising up to swallow made him nearly cry out. Until his eyes adjusted and saw that it wasn't a hole, but a walkway of sorts dug into the ground. How could this be? This couldn't be a cave. He knew the spot well and the last he had been here, merely three months ago, it had been nothing more than an overhang and deep niche to shelter in. And there had been no earthquakes…no floods…nothing to make this suddenly appear.

"This must be it. I don't recall seeing that there before…"

"Tamlen. That worries me. We should be wary. In fact, I don't think we should go in at all." Ceremal had to swallow to keep a new feeling of panic down. What was wrong with him? He was a Dalish warrior. An archer and hunter. Nothing frightened him. Where was he getting these awful feelings from, and why?

"Oh, I swear sometimes loving you does not make up for all the fun you deprive me of!" For a moment Tamlen truly looked miffed but it soon turned to an understanding sigh. "Fine, we'll be careful. But think about it. We should go running back until we know there's something down there worth making a fuss over."

Tamlen moved towards the entrance, then paused and threw a grin over his shoulder. "Besides, how dangerous could it be?"

Ceremal thought it rather appropriate to wear a "told you so" look after being attacked by groups of giant spiders. And even more appropriate to laugh when Tamlen kept jumping in surprise. But the place was rather…extraordinary. An entire underground ruin set out like a temple. The same writing covered stones and artifacts littered on the floor and dimly still visible on the walls. Every now and then would be a dim fade of colour testifying it had also been decorated. But it was strange, as Tamlen pointed it out. The place had a strong resemblance to human architecture yet it held elven statues.

Yet there was another side, a side that strongly overwhelmed his delight that they had just potentially found lost pieces of their culture. The place was dead, crumbling. Skeletons and dried corpses could be seen littered throughout. And all the way the shadows breathed down the back of his neck.

And then the corpses _moved_.

The pushed themselves up from the floor like twisted puppets, hissing and gargling. While their decayed bodies held no true speed or finesse in a fight, they certainly made up for with relentless attacks. More than once a guarding dagger or perfectly placed arrow saved the other from harm.

The corpses paled in comparison to the monster that seemed to arise from nowhere as soon as they opened a door. It seemed like a bear, but larger and more powerful. And spikes! Spikes covered the whole of its body, sometimes jutting out in places where the skin seemed to have simply rotted off. There was no time for warnings or strategy. Just move and keeping out of reach. Ceremal held back as much as possible and peppered it with arrows, which at times distracted it enough for Tamlen to stab with his daggers. At times it was only the other's sharp cry or instinct that kept them out of the beast's claws. Unfortunately they couldn't keep it up the entire time. Soon Tamlen's armor from rendered over his chest, enough to draw blood but not deep. And Ceremal had been throw against the walls hard enough to bruise.

Ceremal struggled to get up from just such an assault when the monster charged at him. He dove to one side at the last moment and the creature harmlessly slammed into the wall. Or so he thought until the pain shot past the adrenaline enough to make him look down and see his hand impaled on a short spike. His cry of shock and pain rebounded off the walls and the creature roared, shaking its head to focus for the next attack. It snapped his body like a doll back and forth, hand still stuck, before he broke free. He kicked at it in desperation, his boot sinking with a sick crack into an eye socket just as a knife pierced through other and into the brain. He stumbled out of reach as Tamlen stabbed it once, twice, three more times just to make sure it was dead.

"What is that thing?" Tamlen gasped, panting as he rushed to Ceremal's side. Once he was sure the monster bear was well and truly dead, he cradled his lover's injured hand between his.

"I don't know! I've never heard of anything like this….except… except in stories." Ceremal's eyes widened as it dawned on him. But it couldn't be…could it? A Blight? Now?

Then something very strange happened. Two noises assaulted his ears. The first was the drop in Tamlen's breathing, from frantic gasps to calm puffs. The second seemed…distant and yet right behind him. Voices, hundreds of them, calling in unknown words. Scratchings. Bangs. His injured hand was dropped into his lap as Tamlen stood. "Tamlen?"

He saw it then. A great mirror standing on a carved platform. On either side stood the statue of a man in robes with a drawn sword, their faces turned towards the glass. The stone was white. Immaculate. Ceremal blinked to focus his eyes. Was the stone actually shimmering a little? It was all too clean, too perfect, for something that must have sat here for centuries. No! They couldn't get any closer! They had to run! This was the bad feeling that caused Sulahn and even himself such anxiety.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Tamlen moved up the steps, voice low in wonder and awe. Ceremal only moved after him to try to halt his movement towards the thing.

"Tamlen! Stop! Don't move any closer. This thing! It's…it's not safe!"

Tamlen glared at him with such ferocity Ceremal took a step back as if the elf had hit him. "It sat here for who knows how many centuries—what could be so dangerous. Don't worry, I won't break it." He moved closer, peering at the surface. "I wonder what this writing is for…"

_The mirror didn't reflect anything!_

_Not the room! Not himself! Not even Tamlen standing right in front of it!_

Tamlen suddenly jumped. "Did you see that? I think something moved inside the mirror."

"Tamlen! Get away from it! It doesn't reflect anything!" His words suddenly choked in his mouth as the voices got louder. Why don't you come closer? Aren't you curious? His mind told his body to reach out and grab his Tamlen, but all it did was move closer.

"Ceremal, be quiet! Look! Did you see it that time?" He did. A strange ping echoed through the room and a red circle, like a droplet falling into water, appeared and disappeared on the surface of the mirror. "Did you feel that? I think it knows we're here. I…just want a closer look…"

No Tamlen. Please. No! His body shook as he tried to force it to move and it refused. A sharp pang of pain erupted from the wound on his hand, like something had dripped on it. The brief moment of clarity let him realize there were tears on his cheeks. No! Stupid! Don't cry, get Tamlen! His hand rose, mere inches from his heart's arm before it froze again.

"It's…showing me places. Some sort of…city! Underground!" He watched in horror as Tamlen's hand finally touched the mirror. The room rang again with sound. The mirror's surface rippled red and flashes on lighting appeared without sound. "Blackness…great blackness… It saw me!" Finally, true fear and panic entered Tamlen's voice and he backed away.

The last thing Ceremal's ears heard was Tamlen's cry for help before light exploded and sent him hurtling down the steps into darkness.

* * *

_The world went in and out of focus, from darkness to blurry distant forms. He had to keep moving. But which direction: Forward to safety, Back to rescue?_

_When had it changed from cold stone with the stench of death to the rich earth? It sang around him. Familiar, gentle, good murmurs washed over him from the life that made up his home. Something nuzzled his cheek until he turned over. Sulahn._

" _Can you hear me?"_

_The world seemed to snap to one side and a form came into brief focus. An older man. Human. Armor._

_Something gentle touched his forehead, followed by a much younger voice. He could barely see the tips of pointed ears through a mass of black hair. "You're hurt, bad. We'll get you out of here."_

_Something slipped under him and he was suddenly rushing upwards. Strong arms brought him to a strong chest. A flash of white and a flash of violet. "I'll carry him. Which way?"_

_And that was all._

* * *

"I think he's waking up!"

Ceremal's eyes slowly blinked. It felt like something was pressing down on them, all of his body, and it would forcefully drag him back to sleep. Alarm spread through him as he came to remember what had happened. The ruins. The mirror. Tamlen! But it was another realization that made his heart stop for a beat.

He felt….wrong.

He held up his hands to see him in his vision. They looked fine, which told him he must have been healed since the great wound on his hand was nothing than a scar. Yet it wasn't that he thought as he bent and extended his fingers. It was if something was…writhing slowly beneath the surface of his skin. Eating away.

Something shuffled near his head as a figure sat down near him, who revealed himself to be a young elven man. And a familiar one! But where? He certainly wasn't a Dalish and not of the Sabrae… But how could he be an elf? His skin was a rich tan, almost like a hazelnut, but how could he when every elf he had ever seen had pale skin. Deep red tattoos arching beneath gold eyes… that's it! The figure from the blurry vision!

"You're awake! You must have the luck or protection of some god, they thought you might not survive." The male turned and produced a cup of water for him to drink. He tried not to but Ceremal gulped the water down, realizing that he was both famished and thirsty.

"Who…?"

"Saleà Tabris, of the Denerim alienage." Saleà smiled and refilled the cup, setting it within reach. "But I think you need to speak to one of your people first. I'll go get him."

One of his…? He was back at camp! Ceremal abruptly realized that he was laying in his own aravel as he smelt the homely smell of wood and herbs, saw the little trinkets sway of their threads from the ceiling. Hadn't he been out in the woods hunting? Hadn't he been exploring a ruin? _A distant cry, his own mixing with Tamlen's as he watched the elf disappear beyond the light_. No! He sat up and tried to get out of the tangle of clothes and blankets. Calm down. Saleà had said he had been found, right? That must mean Tamlen had been found as well, he would be here in camp and everything was safe and sound.

"Lethallin!" He nearly collided with Fenarel at the doorway. "You're awake! Everyone has been worried sick about you! You shouldn't get up, how are you feeling?"

He had to smile a bit at Fenarel, how the worry makes him talk so quickly. "A little…groggy. But worried, where is Tamlen? Can you take me to him?"

The younger elf couldn't hide the expression of worry that flashed over his face. "We don't know. The shems who brought you back saw no sign of him."

"Shems?" It couldn't have the three he had driven out; they would have killed him instead. He looked over for a moment at the dark skinned elf that stood a little ways from them.

"Yes. To humans and this elf brought you back two days ago. You don't remember them? I know was a Grey Warden. They just…appeared out of nowhere with you."

Saleà stepped forward. "You were delirious with a fever. We found you outside a cave in the forest, alone and nearly unconscious. We brought you back here; I stayed behind to help while the others went back…"

"Yes. The keeper's been healing you with the old magic."

He knew the two meant well, but he couldn't take it anymore. The worry was eating at him, clenching around Ceremal's heart again. "And is anyone searching for Tamlen?"

"Oh course! Most of the hunters are off looking for him right now. But stay right here, I have to go get the keeper! She wanted to talk to you as soon as you were awake!" Fenarel turned to go but there wasn't any needed. The grey haired keeper was already approaching. She nodded her appreciation to the young elf and he bowed in respect before moving away.

"Da'len…" The keeper tried to keep her voice level, but she could not keep the affection and relief from her voice. "The fortune of when Duncan found you… I know not what dark power held you, but it nearly bled the life from you. It was difficult even with my magic to keep you alive."

"No…" Ceremal couldn't keep the gasp of horror from slipping loose. "Then Tamlen could be sick as well?"

"If he encountered the same thing as you did, yes. The Grey Warden and his companions," she motioned to Saleà without looking, "say they found you outside a cave. Already stricken, and alone. Duncan thinks there may have been darkspawn creatures in this cave, is that true?"

"I am…not sure. There were monsters…walking corpses… what does a darkspawn look like?"

The keeper shook her head, "That sounds like dark magic, but not darkspawn… What else did you find? What's the last thing you remember?"

Tamlen. Tamlen disappearing. "A mirror… it…I don't know keeper. It seemed to draw Tamlen to it and when he touched it…"

"A mirror?" The keeper sounded incredulous, but Saleà kept silent, his face revealing nothing. "A mirror caused all this? I have never heard of such a thing in all the lore we have collected. I was hoping for answers when you woke, but there are only more questions."

Ceremal lowered his head, glancing at the scar on his hand. He knew what he saw…didn't he? "I am sorry I am not of more help to you, Keeper."

"I know, da'len. I should not take my frustrations out on you. Tamlen remains missing. He is more important than anything we might find in those ruins. If he is as sick as you were…" She didn't finish. She didn't need to.

"I think that's where Duncan and Koln went. Back to the ruins I mean. Though I don't know if it was to search for your friend or for the darkspawn." Saleà finally spoke up, gold eyes flashing with concern.

"No. I hope you will forgive my harsh words, city elf, but we cannot rely on them. We must go ourselves, and quickly. Do you feel well enough to show us the way, da'len? We have not been able to find it without you."

Was he well enough? Ceremal closed his eyes as another wave of whatever it was inside him crawled beneath his skin. Unclean. Unnatural. He forced it down, out of his body and out of his mind. For now. "I feel fine, Keeper. I will show the way."

The Keeper's shoulders dipped and then lifted ever so slightly. Like a bit of weight was taken from her shoulders. "That is good to hear. I'm ordering the camp to pack so we can move north, and I would also like you to take Merrill with you to the cave. Get something to eat for strength, and then swiftly look for Tamlen."

Ceremal did not need any explanation. The camp needed to be moved for safety incase whatever had harmed him and caught Tamlen was still around. Merrill, as the Keeper's First, shared a degree of her magic and could help Tamlen immediately once they found him. She would also be more knowledgeable about what the ruins and the mirror might be as well, using them to shed light on the illness. "Pray for him, Keeper."

Saleà turned to him as she left. "May I accompany you? You might need all the fighters you can with you if you run into more of these things…"

"You know how to use a weapon? None of the city elves that have ever come have ever been trained." He took another look at the elf. Yes, now that he was looking he could see the barest of outlines of a knife in his boot and daggers at the small of his back. A golden eye winked at him, followed by such a mischievous grin he could not help but smile himself. "Let's just say I'm a bit of a troublemaking oddball where I come from."

The camp was abuzz with activity. People darted back and forth to retrieve items or take down parts of their aravel. Parents gathered children or directed them in their own small tasks. Most knew or sensed when he walked by. Hugs, touches, and pats of reassurance or thanks that he was well, their relief evident. But so too they revealed the little hope they held of Tamlen returning. He had to keep his thoughts silent, hidden deep down, only allowing his quiet hope to remain in his words. No. Tamlen was still alive. He would find him and get him help. Ceremal couldn't blame them; he knew they meant well.

Like Paivel, the history keeper, who showed his relief by yelling at him, his affection raw as he reminded him that he belonged to more than just himself. Who he sat by and helped tell their history to the Dalish fledglings while he ate his meal, and who tried to keep his views of flat ears polite once he deduced who Saleà was. Junar who came to introduce Pol, a city elf who had come to live with the Dalish in the time he had been out, and who turned out to be from the same city as Saleà. Ashalle, who was mother to him not by blood, since his own had apparently died when he was a baby, but by time. It comforted him that she had been in or near his aravel every moment until he was better. Halla keeper Maren who laughed at him while the halla herd gathered around him, bumping and nuzzling to make sure he was okay. Or even craft master Ilen, who had carved and presented him with a new bow since his own had been lost. "Give it a history, da'len," he had said. His people. His home.

"Ceremal!" This included Merrill, who bounded towards him and flung her arms around him. "Oh I was so worried! The keeper was in your tent all the time and when she wasn't she'd go through her scrolls. And how she kept fearing that she would lose you, and if we had lost both you and Tamlen. I can't think about it. Poor you, poor still lost Tamlen!"

She finally realized that was ranting and let go, flushing. "Oh, there I go again. I don't think I'll ever get control of my mouth. We should get going now—oh! Hello, I didn't see you there. Are you new, coming along?"

Saleà smiled in understand and introduced himself. They chatted for most of the way, Merrill asking him all questions about city life and culture she could with Saleà answering. It was soothing to here and it kept his mind from going crazy with worry over Tamlen. Think the best, Ceremal, not the worst. Hope that he is sick, sicker than you are, and not dead. Sicker has a better chance of being healed than death.

Until the monsters attacked.

These were different from the ones in the caves. They looked like men but with rottenly pale flesh, with features morphed and twisted. Between Merrill's magic, Saleà's knives, and his bow (a good, strong weapon that felt right beneath his hands) they were able to make quick work of them. But it was…unsettling. "You can smell the evil coming off them," as Merrill said.

"Are you all right?"

Ceremal turned towards Saleà, even then trying to hide the fact he was starting to pant. "I'm fine, why…do you ask?"

"You're very pale and starting to look a bit feverish."

"Well, he did just cover from being sick so the exertion might be doing that," Merrill suggested thoughtfully. "Or it might be your comparison. We're all quite pale naturally. You're the only tan elf I've ever seen and we must live outsides much more than you do."

Saleà conceding, but Ceremal could feel his watchful eyes on his back as he led the way. He would have to be carefully not to show any signs that whatever was crawling beneath his skin was affecting him. They came across a fresh camp on the way that Saleà figured must have been his companions. Then, finally, the cave. Exactly as it had been, save for the myriad of footprints near the entrance and even a drag mark. "That's where we found you."

Don't dwell on it. Into the cave he pushed them, keen eyes alert for any sign of Tamlen or new movement. Slowly his hopes crushed. All looked the same. The rocks where they had fallen, things he and Tamlen had overturned, the bodies of monsters they had killed laid in the same places.

A rattling of a large old door broke him out of his thoughts and he turned to see Saleà standing at one. For a moment he saw Tamlen in his place, complaining that he couldn't see what was behind it and complaining again that after the long way around they had come to the same door. "It's locked. There's a long way around in this direction."

"Aha! So it's one of those~" Saleà hummed as he bent down and withdrew two thin metal tools from a hidden pocket.

"Aha? What do you mean?" Merrill, intrigued, leaned over his shoulder to watch.

"Just something I've noticed in a good number of buildings. See, most people are right handed and unconsciously do one of two things when constructing a building. One is to make the shortest ways or most valued things to the right, or if they're trying to be tricky in protecting something they switch to the left. In a ruin like this there are two ways to get to the same place and the shortest they block with a locked door to force people to go the other." Saleà fiddled with the lock a bit more before cursing in frustration. "This is a good lock…however… it's in an old wooden door. Which means…" Tucking the tools away, Saleà braced his feet while eyeing the door. Raising one leg while rotating at the other he sent a harsh kick at the lock. With a splinter and a crack the old wood gave away and the lock fell to the other side.

Ceremal decided he rather liked Saleà then. Especially when he realized it was indeed a shortcut to the mirror room. The place that he last saw Tamlen. And the place that currently seemed swarming with the strange tainted men they had seen on the path. There were already sounds of combat in the room, and their weapons quickly joined it.

Once it was over, a voice that seemed faintly familiar came from the other side. "Saleà? Is that you?"

"Yes Koln! And the elf we found outside and another!"

For a moment Ceremal was nearly surprised by who opened the door. The human man who appeared on the other side appeared only about 20 and yet had the starkest white hair pulled back into a warrior's ponytail. First a tan elf, and now a near fledgling with white hair. What a strange group this was.

"I could almost say the same about yours," The human answered without first having the question, gesturing at Ceremal's hair. His smile was young, friendly, but didn't quite reach his violet eyes which seemed… sorrowful. Ah, the other human who had found him. "I'm surprised you recovered so fast. Duncan didn't think…"

"So that was fighting on the other side." The last human, who seemed significantly older than the first and who he surmised must be Duncan, approached while cleaning his sword.

"Well then why didn't ye come help?" Merrill asked, almost poutingly.

"Hush, Merrill. They were fighting in here as well. Not all these kills are mine and Tamlen's." Ceremal glanced over the floor at the bodies.

"Oh, forgive me then. You are Duncan of the Grey Wardens, yes? I'm Merrill, the Keeper's First. That's sort of like an apprentice."

Duncan nodded, understanding, but then spoke with a bit of alarm. "Your keeper did not send you after me, did she? I told her I would be in no danger, especially since I took Koln with me."

"I'm search for my lo—brother, Tamlen. We were both in the caves. I last saw him here…" Ceremal trailed off as he finally forced himself to look at the mirror. The writhing took on a fevered pitch for a moment and then disappeared as he looks at it. It was still just as clean and spotless as it was before. No blood, no scuffs, no sign of Tamlen. "He touched it and then… I blacked out."

"Grey Wardens have seen artifacts like this mirror before. It might be Tevinter in origin, or perhaps even crafted by elves of Arlathan, and used for communication. Most just break from time…" His next words made Ceremal's blood into ice. "They become filled with the same taint as the darkspawn. Tamlen's touch must have released it and it's what made you sick, and I presume Tamlen as well."

Ceremal looked down at his hands and he could almost see the blackness underneath his skin. "I had the darkspawn plague. And I…still have it, don't I?" Three people gasped in horror. One person was silent in understanding.

"Yes. You can feel it, can't you? This mirror will continue to infect others so long as it exists."

Yes. He would destroy it! Destroy it for taking Tamlen from him, and for threatening his people. "Will smashing it work?" And when Duncan nodded yes, the Dalish strode forward to break it with his bare hands. He only stopped when Koln stepped in front of him and offered him a sword. He barely saw the crest on it that marked it as a family sword. He only saw the mirror shattering as it crumbled beneath his and didn't stop even when his hand hurt from the jarring. Only when it was shards landing around his bare feet did he stop, and looking down, he saw it. A woven leather bracelet Tamlen had always worn. He kept the sob inside as he picked it up, turned from the remains, and returned the sword.

Ceremal only nodded as Duncan spoke again. "We need to leave this place. I must speak with your keeper immediately regarding your cure." He felt Saleà touch his arm in silent comfort, and then Koln, none noticing as Merrill leaned over and slipped a shard into her pocket. The walk back to the camp was a blur. Duncan speaking to the keeper washed over him, answering only that there was nothing left of Tamlen and remaining silent as Duncan took responsibility for breaking the mirror. He followed blindly when the Keeper gently told him to tell Hahren Paivel what had happened, and to prepare a service for the dead.

"He can't be dead…" Ceremal whispered aloud as he walked, twisting the bracelet around his wrist. Koln and Saleà, who flanked him on each side, remained silent. Silence was what he needed. So he could mourn in that silence. They stood by as Paivel held him in his arms and whispered in his ear that it wasn't his fault, and of course they could sing for Tamlen without a body. They walked on either side as they crossed the camp, almost like a shield for all the condolences and pity he didn't want to hear but didn't have the heart to tell them to stop.

One gently squeezed his arm to make him realize that they were back at the keeper's tent and that Duncan was speaking to him. "Your keeper and I have spoken, and we've come to an arrangement that concerns you."

"Arrange…ment?"

"My order is in need of help and you are in need of a cure. When I leave, I hope you will join me. You would make an excellent Grey Warden. How you've recovered from the taint is remarkable; however, the taint will sicken and kill you, if not worse. The Grey Wardens can prevent that, but it means joining us."

"You…can?" Did he want to survive? Could he even survive, without Tamlen? "That's…very generous."

"I must be honest. It is not simple charity on my part. I would not offer this if I did not think you had the makings of a Grey Warden. But let me also be clear: you will very likely never return here. We go to fight the darkspawn, a battle that will take you from home and clan. But we need people like you. I know it might not help, but Koln and Saleà are both joining as well."

The keeper must have seen the hurt in his gaze as he turned to her. "The Dalish long ago pledged to help the Grey Wardens in a time of need and we must honor this agreement. It breaks my heart to send you away, but even more would it break to see you slowly die from this sickness. Ceremal. This is your duty, and your salvation." He watched her slip her ring onto one of his fingers, the same hand with Tamlen's bracelet.

"Duncan? Can I at least…stay for Tamlen's funeral? Then will I go with you."

_From the observations of Duncan_

_I allowed the boy to stay for the funeral for his fallen comrade and friend. Though, deep down, I suspect that this Tamlen meant much for to Ceremal then he is willing to reveal to his people. Once again, as we are ought to wonder after tragedy, I wondered if there was anything I could have done._

_I watched the three of them stand shoulder to shoulder, letting the songs of the Dalish wash over them. Koln Cousland. Saleà Tabris. Ceremal Mahariel. Three young men from different races and different walks of light. They barely know each other and yet they stood united, leaning on his each for support and comfort. I had not suspected to find a recruit at each of my stops. One, tops. But not three and yet here they are._

_What premonition is this I see from these three? Watching their backs as they stride away from me, weapons drawn, and such conviction following them that it will change the world as we know it. Ah, perhaps it is just the whimsical hopes of old man who is nearing his time and yet has so much to do._

_Ceremal left with us as promised after the funeral and having been embraced by his clan one last time. He does not act as Koln did after he lost his family, but I know the pain is just as deep and he is dealing with his own way. Ceremal seems to be joined by one of the halla who freely lets him ride upon her, like the elven knights from old._

_Now all is finished. Now we travel to Ostagar and to war._

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There! Whoo, finally all done with the "origins" of the three Wardens I'm writing XD I'll probably be switching points of view between characters to change it up a bit or according to the situation. Though there is one bit smaller OC. But Zevran will be popping up much earlier, because I dislike the fact you must finish a main quest first for him to appear...
> 
> There was a lot of things to keep track off concerning the Sabrae clan aka the fact that Ceremal's clan/Dalish Warden's clan is the same clan that shows up in Dragon Age 2, and there's going to be a sequel to this story covering DAII. It wasn't until I read it on the DA wiki that I realized Merrill is in BOTH games since her character is that different. I do prefer her DA2 persona (just as I much prefer Anders DA: Awakening persona)
> 
> And now to decide the order of treaties to write out, and how to skip over Orzammar. I LOATHE Orzammar for some reason.


	4. Arrival at Ostagar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duncan and the Wardens Three arrive at Ostagar. Also, prisoners make some friends.

It took them a few days to make the journey to Ostagar from the Brecilian Forest, managing to make good time on horse and halla-back.  Most of the time was spent in silence or light conversation.  Yet it was also a time for attachment.  The three men from such different stations, races, and walks of life grew closer.  Koln slowly emerged from his silence to talk and interact with the others.  Ceremal it seemed began to accept the other two as a new clan of sorts.  And Saleà took in it all, thrilled to be out of the city and seeing the world, to be seeing a Dalish and seeing a kind human.

“There, can you see it now?”  Koln spoke, easing his horse’s pace as he pointed down the hillside.  His mabari bounded on ahead , eyes set on a poor rabbit that had dared picked to see what the noise was about.  One might mistakenly think Ostagar as an ancient place consumed by time and nature but in truth it was not so.  Battlements, walls, towers of grey and browning stone standing stark against the greens of the forest.  White ribbons of stoned road running like rivers.  A thick bridgeway arching over the narrow pass in the hills.  “That is Ostagar.”

Saleà whistled softly in respect.  “They sure picked the best spot with its natural defenses.  It would take forever to bypass it and get to the lowlands we went through…”

“That’s precisely why they built here.  It was back before the First Blight, when the ancient Tevinter Imperium stretched this far south.  It was used to watch for invasions of what are now called Chasind Wilders.  But after the Imperium collapsed, many holdings such as Ostagar were abandoned.”  Koln trailed off, trying to remember what Aldous, the old historian who had lived at Castle Cousland, had taught him without choking.  “I think the Wilders sacked it after that, but then left it alone.”

Ceremal finally spoke, never taking his eyes off the countryside.  Sure the land in and below Ostagar was crawling with humans and the wind was thick the scent of fires, men, dogs, horses, and blood of battle, but for the most part it seemed truly untouched.  “But it has remained unmanned since then…?  And the land near it unused?  Why?”

Koln turned in the saddle, a grin playing on his features.  “You mean why us humans haven’t laid some sort of claim to it as we always seem to do?”

“Now I said no such thing-!”  Ceremal shot back.  But his shock was playful.  Traveling so close and knowing that they would probably spend the rest of their lives together as Grey Wardens meant there was little room for racial tensions yet much room for learning.  

“Truthfully?  I don’t know.  Perhaps people want to leave the ruin alone, they fear being too close to the Korcari Wilds, they cannot build on it…  It seems to be left as is and used when needed, such as times like this.”

“I see…”  Deep blue eyes went back to the landscape as the Dalish was lost to his own thoughts again.  Thoughts to distract himself from the growing feeling of the darkness crawling beneath his skin.  At the sudden weakness that sunk into his belly.

“Younglings!  If you are done looking you should follow me,”  Duncan’s voice drifted back up from his form hidden by trees, “Otherwise the lookouts might attack.  And I don’t want my recruits injuried.”  

“That would be a rather short tale.”  Saleà laughed.  “ _The recruits made it to the land of the battle but were sadly killed by sentries.  Opps!_ ”

They eventually picked their way down and left their horses, Ceremal speaking softly to his halla before she turned back and disappeared into the trees.  He knew she would return if he needed her and stay far out of reach in the meantime.  

“The king’s forces have fought with the darkspawn several times already, but I know the true force of the dark horde is still coming.  That is why every Grey Warden in Ferelden is here:  because the Blight must be stopped.  Here and now, not allowed to push further north.  It that happens, then Ferelden will surely fall.”  Duncan led them down one of the roads that would led them to the main camp.  As expected men clad in armor stood guarding the road, ready to defend or send messages along.

What the three didn’t expect was the man in shining gold armor, going at such a pace his two guards nearly had to run to keep up, came to meet them.  Though he had no crown his bearing and armor marked him as Cailan Therin, King of Ferelden.  Koln drew himself up straighter despite the king not looking in his direction.

“That’s your king?”  Ceremal whispered as he watched the man and Duncan speak.  He was rather…young.  Like a much too eager child who wanted to prove they could live without an adult.  The armor looked more like a decoration than something to be worn and such a color that it would surely mark him as someone to attack first.    

Saleà shrugged.  His gold eyes darken a little as he watched the man’s face.  He might be king, but he was the human king.  The one who watched over his own people but seemed to ignore others.  How would he react when he learned that a mere elf had killed the son of one of his arls in revenge for raping his cousin?

“The other Wardens said you sent word that you had found some promising recruits.”  The king’s attention suddenly turned on them, waving off Duncan’s attempt at introduction.  “We’ll be shedding blood together so why be formal?  Might I know your names?”

Saleà blinked in surprise, even though he had just seen it for himself it was odd to see that the king was really this… sunny.  “Saleà Tabris, ser.  Of the Denerim alienage.”

The king’s eyes widened and he leaned forward, trying to keep the conversation from his guards.  “Will you tell me how it is there?  My guards all but forbid me from going there!”

“Even though you are the king?” He couldn’t help the tiny smile that tugged at his lips.  “But I don’t think I should talk about it now, ser.”  

“One day I’ll see those walls taken down.  Your people have suffered enough.”  And, despite all conviction not to, Saleà believed him.  

“And you—you’re Dalish!  I hear your people have remarkable skill and honor.”  King Cailan turned now to Ceremal.  The Dalish raised a brow in surprise.  This sheltered pup of a king knew how to distinguish a Dalish?

“I am Ceremal Mahariel.  You know of the Dalish?”  

“Only a little.  Our people don’t exactly get along well, for mostly good reasons.  But know that you are welcome here!”  Ceremal found himself nodding, hiding a grin as he saw the two guards grumbling at his lack of shown respect to their king.

“You’re Bryce’s youngest, are you not?”  Cailan’s eyes immediately went to Koln’s white hair.  “I don’t think we’ve ever actually met but I’ve heard about you.  Your brother is here already with Highever’s men but we were still awaiting your father…”  He trailed off, eyes widening, shocked at the expression that came over the human’s face.

“He’s…”  Koln’s voice cracked no matter how much he willed it not to.  “He’s not coming.  He was killed when…when our castle was taken.”

“Dead?  What do you mean!?  What do you know about this Duncan?”  The king turned shocked eyes to the Grey Warden.  

“Teryn Cousland and his wife are dead, your Majesty.  Arl Howe has shown himself a traitor and overtaken Highever Castle.  Had we not escaped he would have killed us and told you any story he wished.”  Koln could scarcely see and hear the people around him.  It was too soon, too fresh to even hear about it.  Ceremal and Saleà unconsciously leaned closer to him in comfort.  Keeping their reaction to the news to themselves.  

The king shook his head and looked back at Koln to be sure, the Cousland’s face telling all.  “I can scarcely believe it!  How could he think he could get away with such treachery?  As soon as we are done here, I will turn my army north and bring Howe to justice.”  He settled his hands on Koln’s soldier’s so the young man would look at him.  “You have my word.”  

“Thank you, your majesty…  Is my brother…?”

“He and his men are out scouting in the Wilds.  If he returns before the battle I will send word.  But for now all I can suggest is venting your anger out on the darkspawn.”  He finally turned to Duncan, motioning.  “I had better return.  Loghain will no doubt have yet something else to talk to me about or approve or whatever.    If you will meet me later, Duncan?”

“I will, your majesty.  Allow me to instruct the recruits first.”  

“Of course!  Farewell until the battle, future Grey Wardens!”

The four watched the king and his guards leave.  “He seems…rather confident in himself.  Near overconfident.”  Ceremal said slowly.  

“Perhaps…”  Duncan motioned for them to head towards the long bridge.  “It is true the king’s army has battled against the darkspawn several times here and won each, but their numbers grow stronger with each passing day.  By now they might just win by sheer numbers.  The king might regard Grey Wardens highly, but not enough to wait for reinforcements from the Grey Wardens of Orlais…”

Saleà snapped his finger as he understood.  “He believes just having Grey Wardens here will make him invincible.  That’s why he was acting so excited.”

Duncan had to smile a little as an outsider picked up so quickly on the problem.  “Yes.  There are very few of us, but every Grey Warden in Ferelden is here.  That is why you are so important, and the Joining must take place without delay.”

“What would you have us do Duncan?” Koln finally spoke again.  His face showed no emotion, no hint of the paleness it had before.  His hand rested on his sword and his Mabari paced at his side.

“You can explore the camp as you wish, resupplying and getting equipment.  There is another Grey Warden, Alistair, that you should seek out when you are finished.  Tell him to summon the other two recruits.  I must talk with King Cailan and attend to other business, but if you need me I will be near the Grey Warden tent on the other side of the bridge.”  They all walked silently until they reached the other side, then bowed their heads in respect as they separated from Duncan.

“What do you think happens in this ritual?  Duncan’s being rather secretive about it…”  Saleà wondered aloud. His curls snapped to and fro as his head turned to take in everything.  

“I’m not sure, I never heard much about them expect their legends.  But whatever it is must be for a reason--- Ceremal!  Are you allright?”  Koln’s voice turned from wondering to alarm as the Dalish stumbled hard against him.  “Is it worse?  You look pale.”

Ceremal grinned a little but the motion turned into a tremor.  “Saleà is the odd elf here.  I think we’re all supposed to be pale…  But it will pass.  Though I think I will just get my equipment and return to the tent.”  He Dalish pulled himself up tall and proud, gently waving off their offers of accompaniment.  He knew they meant well, but it was still hard to feel so sick and weak and helpless.  

The elf wandered in search of someone who sold or distributed weapons.  He passed by brightly coloured tents, shaking his head.  What was with humans and making themselves easy targets?  If he were the enemy he would certainly head towards the two tents that stood out so starkly while the rest of the tents blended in with the forest.  He took in all at the camp, noting it all so he could tell Merrill and the others about it all when, and it would be when!, he returned home.  But the thing that made him stop was the sight of cages suspended a few feet off the ground…and was that a man inside!?  Alarmed, Ceremal strode closer.

The man inside, stripped to his smallclothes, quickly spotted him.  “Ha!  Someone finally came to talk to the lone prisoner?  I don’t suppose you’ve come to sentence me?”  The man’s voice was tired and harsh, but his face spoke of many things.  

“No, I have not.”  Ceremal’s voice was soft, unaccusing.  And the man immediately responded, shoulders sagging as the fight went out of him.  “I don’t suppose you have a bit of kindness in you?  Food…water…that’s all I want.  They haven’t fed me since I was locked up and I’m starving!”

Long pointed ears picked up the sound of pointedly loud chewing.  He looked to see the guard crunching into an apple, bits of the pale sweet flesh getting stuck in his beard.  The guard sneered at the prisoner and continued without a word.  The prisoner tried to keep his eyes from it but his body quivered with need nonetheless.  “Don’t worry.  I’ll find you a fresh meal and water.  It would be much better than forcing the guard’s scraps from him.”

The prisoner’s expression was guarded, as if he could not allow himself to hope or believe.  Ceremal quickly found the quartermaster, who amusing mistook him for one of the flat-ears running around (though it was rather infuriating how many of the humans just pushed them around), quickly bought himself more arrows and leather straps to repair those on his boots.  He found the kitchen tent nearby where women were flying back and forth to prepare meals and easily received what he required, though he left rather confused why anyone would consider him “just skin and bone!”.

“You….you brought me back food!  Oh may Andraste herself rain blessings on you!”  The prisoner exclaimed when Ceremal returned.  He reached for it eagerly, nearly knocking it out of the Dalish’s hands when he slipped it through the bars.  The man dug into it sure not to waist a single crumb.  He would have left him, but another wave of dizziness overcame Ceremal that he tried to hide by leaning against the nearby post.

“I’m a deserter, or so they think.”  The man offered between mouthfuls.  “Bet there’s no way of changing their minds since armies tend to be funny like that.”

“Did you?”

“No!...but when you catch someone sneaking around camp in the middle of the night, what else is someone going to think?  I wasn’t sneaking out, I was stealing!”  Ceremal would have smacked his forehead at the revelation, but he was too polite and dizzy to follow through with the thought.  “I got one of those weird emotionless wizards drunk and took his key.  It belongs to a chest of magical treasures they got here!”

Ceremal chuckled.  “Now don’t you think that is a tiny bit of payback for stealing?”  He held out his hand.  “You really should give it back.  It might be needed for the battle.  And who knows?  The mage might be so grateful it will help with your release.”

The man hung his head, thinking as he tossed the key back and forth.  “You’re right.  Here.  Will you return it for me?”  He dropped the key into his hand.  “Even if they don’t…..well, thanks for the food anyways.”  Ceremal eventually found the mage the man had been speaking up.  Normally he would have been shocked and alarmed at the emotionless way the man fretted about looking for the key and then in turn thanking him for its return (they did this to their own mages!?) but by then nausea was creeping up on him and the black crawling beneath his skin at a frenzy.  He barely managed to find the tent Duncan spoke of and sat down, closing his eyes in an attempt to force the feelings away.  

Back across camp Koln was heading straight for the brightly coloured tents his companion had seen before.  Despite the smells and excitements of the camp Neera stayed close to his side.  Gold and Blue, the king’s colours.  Koln ignored them and went to the one he sought:  Gold and Green, the colours of Teryn Loghain.  He had only ever seen the man on rare occasions, mostly when he was a small boy.  Ferelden only had two terynirs left:  his own home of Highever and Gwaren located on the east coast.  

A man clearly standing guard out front snapped as soon as he got close, “You approach the tent of Teryn Loghain!  State you business!”

A white brow raised at the man’s quick words.  He surreptitiously drew his shoulders back and widened his stance, pushing his cloak away from the arm that rested on his sword.  The man might be doing his duty, but he needed to speak with the only other surviving teryn.   “Is the teryn inside?  I need to speak with him.”

“He is present…I…”  He cast his eyes over Koln, judging whose wrath would be the worse to contend with.  “I suppose if you have a message, hold a moment?”  He darted into the tent.  Soon quick words darted back and forth, followed by such cursing Neera cocked her head in amusement.  Loghain, a large older man dressed in much more useful armor, emerged.  His expression of annoyance didn’t dissipate when he saw Koln, only grow.  

“Yes, what is it?  Ah, one of Duncan’s new Grey Warden, of course.  His majesty could not contain his _excitement_ after your meeting, how could I _not_ hear about you.”  The man barely gave him room to talk.  The man’s  displeasure was palpable.  “Hold a moment.  You look familiar…”  Loghain’s eyes widened ever so slightly, and an odd expression came over his face.

Koln wasn’t sure what to make of it but he still answered.  “I am Koln Cousland, ser.  My father was the Teryn of Highever.”

“Ah, yes.”  The taunt skin around his eyes, the tightening of his jaw, the clenching of a gloved fist.  Each movement minute in its own right, and probably each had its own purpose.  Yet…there was something… “The king told me of his promise.  I am certain he has every intention of following through.”  Yes.  The speed and clipping of his words.

“I just wanted to make sure you knew.”  Koln felt a little pride that this time he didn’t let his emotions rule his face.  “In case Howe contacts you to tell you otherwise or attempts to try the same thing on your own lands.  So what happened to my family doesn’t happen again…”  If only we had seen the signs or been warned…  

“Yes yes, of course.”  Why wouldn’t the Teryn look at his eyes?  Don’t be foolish, he probably figured Howe might try the same with him and doesn’t need some youngster trying to help.  Other things, here and now, are probably more important.  “I…don’t suppose you’ll be riding into the thick of battle with the rest of your fellows will you?”

“I don’t see why not, ser.  Why else would Duncan have brought us?”

“Good, very good.”  Loghain smiled ever so slightly.  “Now I must return to my task.”  And with that he was dismissed.

Needing no equipment that he knew about, Koln wandered towards the sound (and smell) of dogs.  Mabari were always used in battle.  It was what they were breed for.  He always had a spot of recognition and concern for them.  After all, Neera herself was his fighting companion.  The kennels were easy to find, the dogs waking, sleeping, play fighting, and all things dogs are want to do.  There was one caged by itself, however, that whined pitifully and lay on its side.    

“What’s wrong with you, pup?”   Koln spoke softly.  The dog growled weakly, willing his body into an aggressive stance that immediately wavered.    

“His owner died in the last battle and he’s swallowed darkspawn blood.  I have medicine that might work but I can’t even muzzle him despite him being so weak…”  The kennelmaster eyed Neera.  “It might not work but could you try?  I hate to lose him…”

“Of course I’ll try.”  Koln made the silent command with his hand for Neera to stay put.  Her eyes stayed on him and her haunches twitched, ready to defend her master should the other dog attack.  He crouched even before entering the small pen to make himself appear less threatening, slowly holding out an ungloved fist for the dog to catch his scent.  The dog finally backed down and looked up with intelligent eyes reflecting respect and pain.  A lot of pain.  “Hey there.  Not feeling too good are you?  I know you don’t want to feel sicker, but better.  Can we help?”

The dog slowly bowed his head and Koln scratched behind his ears.  With his free hand he motioned for the muzzle.  The dog did not challenge him as he put it on; finally realizing that the only way the pain would ease was if he accepted help.  “Well I’ll be… now only if this medicine can cure him.”

“You don’t think it can?”  Koln stood and moved so the kennelmaster could enter the pen.

“I’m not sure.  I think this would only ease it.  What I really need is a Wilds Flower, that would really give him a fighting chance.  But I can’t leave all the dogs just for one to look for it… perhaps you could look for it?  It’s completely white with a blood red center and smells of—“

“Honey?”  Koln dug into his pack.  That sounded familiar.  “I might just… One of my companions kept gathering plants on the journey here.  Ran out of room in his and started putting some in mine… Ah!  Here, is this it?”  

“Yes!  I can’t believe—I’ll make the medicine right away!  If it works he should be better in one or two days.  We’ll see if he’ll imprint on another soldier then, though he might come looking for you.”

The two laughed at the prospect.  “I would rather keep my Neera than see her kill another member of her breed.  But I will check on him nonetheless in the coming days.”

Koln bid the kennelmaster farewell and continued through the camp.  He was hailed by a man, Ser Jory, whom had been one of their knights in Highever and was a Grey Warden recruit as well.  The man was worried about their home having already heard the news of Arl Howe’s betrayal, more about the pregnant wife he had left behind.  Koln calmed him as best he could; since the attack had only been concentrated on Castle Cousland he figured that the rest of Highever was safe as it might be.  Relieved, the man moved on the Duncan’s tent.  Koln followed, after speaking with a older female mage called Wynne that reminded him so much of his mother it twisted his heart.  She quietly understood his request for a prayer for the dead, for his fallen parents and the others at Highever, and safety, for his brother and his men.

Across camp Saleà noticed a group of tents grouped off to one side, guarded by a line of full armored men.  A few people dressed in robes were standing before the tents.  Surrounded by shimmering light, waving their hands at nothing in the air with distant looks in their eyes.  What in the world were they doing?

He must have stepped too close, for a Templar stopped him.  “The mages must _not_ be interrupted. Their spirits are in the Fade.”

“The Fade?”  He could almost hear the templar rolling his eyes underneath the helm.  “The Fade is a realm of dreams and the dead…so the mages tell us.  Regardless they are not to be disturbed, not even by the Grey Wardens.”

“Sorry!  I’ll just…carry on.”  Saleà moved away but his eyes went back to the mages.  They could enter the place where dreams appeared willingly?  What did they see?  What were they trying to do there?  Could they explain the strange and vivid dreams he had been dreaming since he was little?  Probably not the best thing to ask right before a battle.

“If you would just stand still for a moment and let a healer look at it!”

“Carver!  I said no!  It’ll heal on its own, so they can help the actually wounded.  Now drop it.”

Two warriors strode across Saleà’s path, trying to keep their argument quiet but quickly failing at it.  The younger, the one he figured was Carver, seemed around 18 years old with black hair and green eyes.  The other was a few years older and shared enough similarities that they had to be brothers.  A red wound  slashed across his nose, not enough to mangle his handsome face but enough to scar if left as it was. 

“You just want it to scar…”  Carver grumbled as he flopped down to sit on a log, leaning his sword next to him.  Saleà had to smile a little at the obvious sibling relationship.  Only a brother or sister could worry over the sibling one minute and then fight with them the next.

The brother must have seen his smile since he gave a playful one back, thrusting his thumb over his shoulder.  “Hey, you agree with me, right? The eldest always wins~”

“Leave me out of this, I’m an only child!” Saleà and the man laughed, Carver rolling his eyes.  “Cousins, on the other hand, I can talk about.”

“Garrett Hawke, of Lothering.  That’s Carver, one of my siblings.”  The man extended his hand and Saleà shook it, answering.  “Saleà Tabris, from Denerim.”

The rogue sat down to talk with the two and right away lost all track of time.  Garrett and Carver were both swordsmen and had fought in the two battles so far.  Garrett had gotten his wound in the last battle saving a companion (who came to see him at one point in the conversation.  A red-haired soldier named Aveline so strong and sure that Saleà liked her; though he had the wise thought not to speak out loud the how she reminded him of the Knight Aveline of Orlais.  Carver made that mistake and she let him have it.).  The two came from the small town of Lothering that was north of Ostagar, where they had a small farm and they had left their mother, Leandra, and Carver’s twin sister, Bethany.  There was no mention of a father and Saleà didn’t press.  The Hawke brothers had also brought along their mabari, a male named Ian, who insisted on resting his big slobbering head across the elf’s lap.  He seemed like a big puppy until you took notice of the blood around his mouth.  In turn Saleà spoke of the father and cousins and community he had left behind in the alienage.  He didn’t realize until that moment how much he missed all of them.

Eventually, another soldier approached them.  He seemed used to fighting and battles, but there was something about his face or eyes that gave off the feeling he was going to pull a prank or crack a joke.  He nodded to the two Hawkes but looked at Saleà.  “Hey, are you city elf that Duncan brought as a recruit?  He sent me to find you.”

“Yes?”

“Finally!  I’m Alistair, one of the Grey Wardens.”

Saleà cursed.  “Opps.  And here I was going to come find you.”  He bid farewell to the brothers and followed Alistair, who was finding the last recruit named Daveth.  

“I get sidetracked all the time.  Duncan’s reprimands are constant~”  Alistair grinned but his eyes darted back and forth, like he expected the Grey Warden to appear from nowhere and slap him in the head.  “Anyways.  As the junior member of the Order I’ll be accompanying you and the others while you prepare for the Joining.”

“Wait, so that means me and the others will be the babies of the Wardens?  All the work and the jokes and stuff pushed on us???”  Saleà stopped in mock terror.

“Yes!  Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for this day?  Oh you’ll never be able to—“  Alistair suddenly stopped, words midsentence and foot half raised.  Saleà nearly ran into him.  He followed the Warden’s gaze across the camp.  It was just Duncan and who he figured were the two other recruits, Koln and his mabari, and Ceremal leaning against his beam with his eyes closed.  He was paler than normal and seemed to be taking deeper breathes.  The taint must be spreading faster through his body.  

“Who…who is that?”  Alistair shook the elf’s shoulder and not-so-subtly pointed at the Dalish.  

“Ceremal?  You didn’t meet him yet?” 

Alistair drew back in shock.  “That’s a guy?!”  A blush came and went across his cheeks.  The young Warden coughed sheepishly.  “I-I knew that.  We should probably join them now.”

Now what was that all about?

The five recruits stood in a semi circle in front of Duncan, waiting for orders or an explanation as to what would happen next.  Koln and Saleà stood on either side of their Dalish friend as Duncan reprimanded Alistair for riling the mages before turning to them. 

“Since you are all here we can begin.”  He started. “The six of you will be heading into the Korcari Wilds to perform two tasks.  The first is to find a Grey Warden archive in the Wilds, abandoned long ago when he could no longer afford to keep remote outposts.  We have learned recently that some scrolls were left behind, magically sealed to protect them.  Alistair, I want you to retrieve the scrolls if you can.”

Alistair nodded, looking serious for a moment.  Though it disappeared as soon as Duncan’s attention went elsewhere and Saleà caught him sneaking another glance at Ceremal, whose wave of dizziness had finally passed.

“And the second task, Duncan?”  Koln asked.

He held out a hand that contained five glass vials.  “We just fill each of these with the blood of a darkspawn.”

 

 

~_~_~ 

He had begun to lose count of the days of his just punishment.  10, 15, 20?  What did it matter... He pushed aside the weak thoughts.  He willed the pain in his legs to go away, since all he could do in the cage was stand or sit with his legs drawn up.  Violet eyes cast over the cage’s surroundings to pick an object.  To speak the name of the object in his mind in the common language and all other things he could think of starting with the same letter.  

He wasn’t able to get very far when the growingly familiar sound of bare feet on the earth came closer to his cage.  The _imekari_ had come again.  The odd human child had appeared sometime after he had been put in the cage, the first of his age to approach without fear.  This was mostly likely due to the fact he didn’t seem to be like, or at the very least being raised like, the other _basra_ children.  Thin, barely taller than his waist, skin smudged with dirt or light scratches, wild hair he tried to keep under a bandana, and ragged clothes with patches on patches.  

The _imekari_ smiled up at him, little sounds of air leaving his throat in what the prisoner figured was a laugh.  The boy never spoke because he could not.  He had learned this only a few days before when his curiosity had won out and he had finally spoken to the boy.  Small hands easily slipped through the spaces between the bars.  A small container held fresh water was offered in one hand while the other held a small wooden bowl covered with a cloth.  Underneath was a hunk of bread, some cheese, and a handful of fruit and vegetables.  Nothing close to feed a warrior his size, but more than enough to feed the child’s belly.  

Since that first time the child had approached the cage he appeared when he could to sneak the prisoner food and water.

“Spend your day well, Imekari.”  Sten rested his hand over the child’s head in his form of thanks.  He could crush his head with the strength of one bare hand, but he would not.  Not this child.  Dual colored eyes twinkled up at him before the urchin darted away to trail behind a group of workers that left the town to work in the outlying farms.

Imekari translates as child in their language.  Child.  Cat.  Captain.  Captive.  Chair….

* * *

 

“Mother!”  Bethany Hawke shouted as she jumped up the front porch, setting a basket of eggs down with one hand with removing her hair tie with the other.  “That boy’s here over midday again!”

“Oh dear…”  Leandra stepped into the doorway, grey haired pulled back from her aged but gentle face.  She looked past her daughter out into the garden, where indeed the boy was hoeing in the garden while the rest of the workers had gone back into Lothering for the midday meal.  Truth be told the boy was one of the hardest workers she had seen or hired from the town to help work the farm while her sons were away at war.  “Will you go run and bring him in?  I’ll give him something to eat.”

“But Mom… we don’t feed the rest of them…”

“Bethany!  You should know better.  We have enough to share, plus I keep making food enough for four even though your brothers aren’t here.  He works hard and could use the help even though he never asks.  I think if I lived on the streets even the littlest kindness could be the biggest blessing.”

Knowing her mother was right and she would lose the argument, Bethany silently went and retrieved the boy.  So began the usual dance of her mother trying to get him into the house to eat at the table only to have him go as far as sitting on the steps.  He tried to eat only a little bit while Leandra tried to stuff into him.  And it was only after Leandra tried to tie a kerchief full of food for him to take back to whatever place he called home did he take it.  On top of that Leandra slipped cookies into his pocket, which Bethany had to admit was worth it when he smiled in delight.

And of course, as always, when they turned he was gone, back to work, a little wood carving left on the porch in thanks.  This time it was a little dragon peeking out of its egg.

So the boy worked hard, thinking of the cookies he would share with his friend later on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah. I’ve pretty much given it away extremely early what I’m planning to do with Saleà. Since Aveline, Hawke, and Carver all fight at Ostagar I had to include them here, since I plan on making a sequel to this story that covers Dragon Age II. But you’ll never be able to guess the transition though :P
> 
> But the part I’m worried about is the “child” that I had interact with Sten at the end here. When writing stories off Origins, its one of the few times that you can basically make/insert an original character and have them do/act as you want because that’s such an integral part of the game. The child, who’ll be named later, was originally from a short side story based off a silly idea I had at one point when thinking about Sten’s character. Now that I finally figured out a purpose for him I decided to include him in the story as well. 
> 
> I have to warn now (while I don’t mind I know a fair bit of readers do mind) he’s probably the most original character for the story I will include. That, and what he turns out to be/his purpose, is also almost entirely original. Aka I made it up XD I hope you’ll like him though!


	5. Witches and Wilds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The heroes three take their Joining, and the night waits for the battle.
> 
> And Saleà dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter starts out in Koln's point of view, but switches to Saleà near the end.

_I don’t know whether I should feel guilty or relieved that I’m writing of events not related to my family…  I still don’t understand why Wynne wishes me to write.  It just brings pain back.  Or I just write down events I barely feel anything at all for…_

_Duncan sent the six of us into the Korcari Wilds.  Ser Jory and Daveth seemed agreeable enough companions, though the former seemed jumpier than a soldier should be and the later seemed consumed on seeing some sort of conspiracy in the Grey Warden joining.  Retrieving the documents from the ancient cache made sense enough.  Grey Wardens have been able to call aid from any race in Thedas in the past, if I remember correctly.  But in these days, and having been so long since the last Blight, having physical treaties to show and remind people would create less problems when needs arise._

_I’m not quite sure why so many people fear the wilds.  It’s trees and rocks and hills and swamps just like any other place might be, though I must admit I wasn’t paying that much attention to the scenery.  Most of my attention was split between my companions, for Ceremal was starting to worry me, and the monsters that until had only haunted bedtime stories:  darkspawn._

So far we have only run into a pack or two of wolves.  Either Neera or the wolves own howling alerted us ahead of time so we were ready.  But then other signs started appearing as we moved one.  Gouges in the ground and plant life, signs of skirmishes, blood and corpses.  Daveth, the one with all the talk and bravado, throws up at one point.  None of us comment, and Saleà pats his back in support.  He’s probably not seen violence on this scale before.  I wish we could bury the dead.  Or find some clue to their identity so at least their families could be contacted.  But we can’t.  Not now.  Perhaps when this is all over—

“Don’t…don’t leave…me!”  

What we thought of as one of the dead suddenly moved, pushing himself up on his arms.  “Well, he’s not as dead as he was looking, is he?”  Alistair rummaged in the pack at his hip and withdrew bandages, starting to bind the man’s wounds as best he could.  “What happened here?”

“My scouting band was attacked…by darkspawn!  They came from nowhere, out of the ground!” The announcement was like a punch to my stomach.

“Scouting?  Were you lead by Fergus Cousland?  Is he still alive!?”  I felt someone’s hand touch my arm to calm me but I shook them off.  My heart felt like it was cracking out of my chest.  I couldn’t breathe.  Fergus!  He had to be still alive!

“No…”  The man shook his head.  “He lead…another scouting party.  Saw him last night before the groups split off.  I don’t know if he’s still…”  He swallowed to wet his throat.  “I have to…return to camp.”

Someone helped him up, I don’t know who, and he stumbled off.  Just…to hear my brother is alive!  That he was close by!  Someone is freaking out, their words distant in my ears as I try to control myself.  “Koln, you need to get up.”  Ceremal’s lilting voice is firm in its command, but soft in its understanding.  “There is something coming…”

_None of us really questioned why a Grey Warden could sense the darkspawn then.  The three of us that survived know it now, however.  Ceremal could sense it because of the taint already present in his blood, slowly killing him.  I had been still kneeling on the ground so I was the only one that noticed Alistair’s strange expression.  See the way he brushed the Dalish’s arm briefly in concern.  The elf minutely shook his head as he retrieved his bow from his back and readied his arrows._

_The first time you fight a darkspawn…is nothing close like the first time you fight another man.  When you fight someone else of our own kind, no matter what gender or race, you can read them.  Their plans, their moves in battle, what they might or might not do.  They stop or slow down when they’re injured; if they’re smart they now tacts and such.  A darkspawn?  They only fight.  They only kill.  They keep going until you’ve killed them.  You can only fight to survive against one.  Nothing else.  Everything you might have ever been taught about battle flies out of your mind._

We took the needed vials of blood from the darkspawn once we had finally killed them.  I have to wonder:  are these small bands scouting parties of their own?  A sharp whistle comes from above where Saleà had scrambled up a tree to look for the ruins and he points through the forest and mist.  And suddenly we can see it.  The grey of stone ruins, crumbling.  

“The treaties should be a chest magicked to protect the papers and survive time and elements.  It could be hidden as well…”  Alistair says as we enter under a still standing archway.  The ceiling is rotted away by now and most of the walls have collapsed in on themselves.

“Or it could be blazing out in the open.”  Saleà counters.  I follow his gaze.  Indeed, right in front of us, is a chest out in the open.  And it’s broken. 

“Just our fuckin’ luck!”  Daveth growls, kicking at the lid.  Ser Jory shakily asks Alistair what to do next.  Suddenly, Saleà’s and my mabari’s head snap in one direction and my hand tightens on my sword.

“Well, well, what have we here?”

A woman stepped from nowhere.  Pale, with dark hair and muted yellow eyes.  A staff of a mage on her back and a shirt that was really nothing more than a drape of fabric over her breasts.  The look in her eyes spoke of amusement.  She was playing with us.  Choosing to speak with us in the open instead of attacking us from secret as she could have moments before.  “Are you vultures, I wonder?  Scavengers peeking at corpses long since cleaned?  Or intruders coming into my darkspawn-filled Wilds in search of easy prey?”

There was a pause as the party shot each other looks.  So I answered instead. “We are merely searchers of the Grey Warden tower, ma’am.”  

“Ma’am!?  I am not that old.”  The woman laughed.  “But ‘tis a tower no longer.  The Wilds have obviously claimed this sad remnant… I have watched your footsteps for some time. ‘Where do they go?  Why are they here?’ I have been wondering.  Disturbing ashes that have lain dormant for centuries.  Why is that?”  She had been walking closer as she spoke.

“Don’t answer.”  Alistair spoke in a low voice.  “She looks Chasind and so there may be others nearby.”

“You battle darkspawn without fear yet show hesitation for what may or may not be something?”  Ceremal questioned softly.  Alistair shuffled at the remark.

Amusement danced on the woman’s face as her arms moved with her words.  “You fear barbarians will swoop down upon you?”

“Swooping is bad,”  the young Grey Warden mumbled.  Ceremal must have been slowly smiling at the human’s joke, since he chuckled suddenly.  

Alistair’s elated expression puzzled me but I could see it more since Daveth was suddenly shaking me.  “She’s a Witch of the Wilds!  She’ll turn us into toads!”

Saleà stared at him incredulously, “Toads?  Even if she was, and she was going to turn us into anything, I’m pretty sure it would be much more creative than a toad.”

“Now there’s a man with a mind of his own~  For you I would give my name if you would only give yours in return.”

“Saleà.”  And the tanned elf surprised us all by nodding his head in respect .

The woman’s expression insinuated pleasure.  “And I am Morrigan, if you wish to call me thus.  I believe I can guess your purpose-“

“She’s trying to read our thoughts now--” “Will you shush Daveth!”

“—you sought something in that chest, but that something is here no more?”

“ ‘Here no longer’ because you stole them you…you sneaky…witch-thief!”  Why does Ceremal keep chuckling at the silly things Alistair keep saying?  He seems like a good enough man, but he seems too…carefree about things.  “Those documents are Grey Warden property, and you had better return them.”

“I will not,” the woman narrowed her eyes while pursing her lips. “for ‘twas not I who removed them.  Invoke a name that has long ago lost it’s meaning.  It won’t threaten me.”

Alistair made a move to get at her but Saleà beat him once again.  “If you did not, would you happen to know who did?”  If nothing else, she seems to tolerate our city elf the best.

“’Twas my mother, in fact.”

“Would we be able to met her?”

“Now there is a sensible request~  I like you.”

_So we followed Morrigan deeper into the Korcari Wilds.  Amidst gasping whispers of witches spells and notes of caution from some of our members.  With answering chortles and egging on from the others.  The strange woman led us on twists and turns, even backtracking I realized at one point, probably in an attempt so we wouldn’t be able to find the area again.  Morrigan might not have been familiar with a mabari, though she certainly is now.  Neera never forgets a scent.  She brought us to a woman she introduced as her mother._

_They really don’t resemble each other, Morrigan and her mother, except that reddish-purple staining or paint around the others.  But they way they barbed and talked with one another it was obvious they were family.  Flemeth is an…interesting woman to say the least.  Seeming to talk so much in circles with you that you don’t know where the conversation began.  Yet she did truly have the Grey Warden treaties, having protecting them since the seal had wore off.  I think she must have meant well since she handed them over, plain and simple, with warning words to tell Duncan and the others that ‘this Blight’s is greater than they realize’.  Since it was getting dark, and we were Morrigan’s “guests”, she led us back towards camp before simply disappearing...  Now that I think back on it I am glad she appeared at all to our aid.  Ceremal had began to fade fast, Saleà and I supporting his weight so he could walk near the end.  We might have lost him if she hadn’t led us back…_

_I was quite confused at the time at why it was Alistair of all of us that seemed to be freaking out the most on his condition._

Duncan rises as we approach, a look of relief on his face that soon disappears as he sees Ceremal’s condition.  “I would ask if you were successful but I see we have no time.  I’ve had the Circle mages preparing.  We have to start the Joining immediately.”  He motioned and we followed, Alistair quickly explaining all that happened.  

Well, following until Ser Jory complained.  “No!  I refuse to go another step until you tell us what this ritual is all about!”  A shift side kick from Saleà to his shin shut him up enough that he kept following.  I think if he hadn’t been wearing armor my friend might have broken his leg.

“I will not lie, we Grey Wardens pay a heavy price to become what we are.  Fate may decree that you pay your price now rather than later.”  We stepped into what must have been Ostagar’s temple in it’s day.  Duncan and Alistair bid us stay in one area, while they went off to finish whatever preparations were needed for this Joining.  Once they are out of earshot Daveth and Jory immediately starting bickering.

“Tam…len?”  Ceremal choked out weakly.  He raised his head, eyes darting back and forth in search of something.  I can feel is skin quivering beneath my hands.  

Saleà soothed a hand through the elf’s blue-silver hair, pushing strands back from his burning forehead.  Our eyes joined in worry.  Could we be too late to save him?  We have known each other for such a scant amount of time, yet even the thought of loosing either of them frightens me.  I can’t loose anyone else, I can’t!  “Shh, just hold on a bit longer Cere.  You’ll be feeling better soon.  Don’t give up on us.”

Luckily, Duncan returned when I was just considering going after him.  Something about him seemed…changed.  He walked with a different air.  There was a different, knowing look in his eyes.  Even his voice grew with authority as he talked, “The Grey Wardens were founded during the first Blight, when humanity stood on the verge of annihilation.  So it was that the first Grey Wardens drank of darkspawn blood and mastered their taint.”

“What!?”  Ser Jory drew back.  “We’re…going to drink the blood of those…those creatures!?”

My own eyes grew wide.  That was why we had to retrieve the blood?  We were going to drink it?  What would it do to us!?  My mind might have rebelled, have abandoned me of all thoughts of honor and keeping your word.  It was the elves at my sides that saved me.  Saleà, with that look of determination in his eyes, the lack of fear.  And Ceremal’s condition and how the Joining would save him all made sense now.”

“As the first Grey Wardens did before us, as we did before you.  This is the source of our power and our victory.”  Duncan spoke again, and Alistair continued.  “Those who survive the Joining become immune to the taint.  We can sense it in the darkspawn and use it to slay the archdemon.”  He slowly looked at everyone one of us.  Measuring us.  Gauging us.  

I knew I had to be the one to speak.  “Then let us begin.”

There was a glitter of pride in Duncan’s eyes.  “We speak only a few words prior to the Joining, but these words have been said since the first.  Alistair, if you would?”

Taking one last look at Ceremal, Alistair lowered his head and closed his eyes.  “Join us, brothers and sisters.  Join us in the shadows where we stand, vigilant.  Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn.  And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten and that one day we shall join you.”

Duncan gave the goblet to Daveth first.  

I don’t think any of us could have been prepared to have happened next.  A first the man seemed fine.  Then it seemed he could not stand, could not breath.  He clutched at his throat, gurgling, screams muted as he fell.  His eyes were white, rolling in the back of his skull.  And he was dead.  And it was like in the very same moment Jory was dead as well.  He drew his blade on Duncan the moment the goblet was offered and Duncan slew him.  And then it was us, just the three of us huddling together, on our knees were we had sank.  From Ceremal’s weakness or our fear.  I don’t know.  

Even splattered in blood Duncan tried to make his eyes kind and his voice gentle so we understood.  “You are called upon to submit yourself to the taint for the greater good.  Can you hold Ceremal?”  I want to take him.  He’s so far gone he doesn’t have a choice anymore… None of us have a choice anymore…do we?

Ceremal barely manages to drink, drops of the dark blood leaking from his mouth.  And then he is alive, gasping in breath and fighting against something none of us sees.  Just as quickly he stops and his hands fall to his chest, head lulling to one side.  Breathing so softly.  “Don’t worry, he’s made it.  He’s a Grey Warden now, so the taint will no longer make him sick.  He will wake up.”  Alistair speaks softly as he takes Saleà’s place, letting Ceremal’s head rest in his lap.

Duncan offers the goblet to me next.

_I will never forget the nightmarish vision of the archdemon I saw when that foul blood hit my tongue.  I can’t write it even now, my mind reels away from recalling it.  My hands shake so badly I can’t even write now…_

_… There, it’s a little better now.  I only knew that I had survived as well for the simple fact that I woke up the next morning…_

* * *

 

_My strange dream elf holds me protectively as I try to calm myself from these black images that are not my own.  He snarls at them when they try to get me again, his strange white markings glowing blue.  The light from them burns they black visions and they dart away.  For now._

_He cups my face in his strong hands.  I can feel the raised lines of his white markings against my face; they are on the palms of his hands as well.  His thumbs stroke my cheeks and I become aware they are spreading a wetness there.  I have been crying…  I try not to anymore, for his sake, but I can’t.  His green eyes shine in understand and he kisses my forehead._

_That one act drives away the fear in me.  Impossible strong arms pull me against a lean chest and I bury my face there, planting one ear firmly over his heart so I can hear it.  Thump thump.  Thump thump.  Until my own heart matches its beat.  And my body settles to it, finally calm.  I don’t know how long we stay like this, but this is a dream, my dream, and I don’t want it to end.  But it does.  The white haired elf draws back a little so he can see my face.  And suddenly I know it is to see from my face and eyes if I am strong enough to take in what he’s about to show me._

_One arm still holds me against his chest but the other extends a hand to the floor.  Shining blue light appears on the tips of his fingers in the shapes of claws and they rend the floor.  What had been an endless floor of watery black is now torn like a fabric to reveal an image.  An image that moves.  An image I know is happening right before my eyes…  He leans so he knows I can see and we watch:  a young woman, sick, sick as Ceremal was sick.  I can feel that I am there with her, screaming at myself for not noticing it sooner.  For not protecting her.  I have to save her!  But why?  Who is she, and why do I feel that I am bound to her?_

_My elf reaches towards my neck and brings a pendant into view, one that I can feel suddenly around my neck.  Where did that come from?  I wore nothing like it before I began the Joining…  It is a dark red ruby pendant on a simple silver chain… no!  It is not!  What looked like a solid ruby gemstone is in fact a hollow container with clear sides.  I am see whatever this red stuff is swirl a little inside as the elf moves it.  It is blood.  The same blood that I drank!  Isn’t it?  I ask him, and he nods.  He gently takes the top from the pendant and turns it so the blood spills onto the woman in the vision.  It hits her mouth and she drinks.  But it doesn’t save her like it saved Ceremal.  She is dead._

_Before I can cry out the white haired elf kisses my forehead once more, asking patience.  The image seems to reverse itself until the woman, still sick, is alive and waiting.  The elf rends another tear in the fabric of my dream and points.  I see the goblet again, from our Joining, with the five vials of darkspawn blood empty around it.  I can see hands…Duncan’s hands?... moving close to it.  In his hands is another, different, intricate vial.  Sealed.  Closely guarded.  From it he lets loose a single drop of blood into the goblet.  The image freezes like water on a winters day because the marked elf has reached his hands into it and taken the vial.  He holds the empty pendant and the intricate vial for me to see, and makes sure I see as well how he pours this different blood into the pendant around my neck.  The vial disappears and once more he empties the pendant over the vision of the young woman.  It hits her mouth and she drinks.  She…she lives!  Changed and taken away as I have been…as I once was…but she lives!_

_I nod to my dream elf in understand and he smiles softly.  Everything disappears until it is just me and him.  And he gives me a parting gift as I awake…_

Saleà shot into a sitting position.  For a brief moment his mind drew a blank at what had awakened him before it surged back.  Duncan, he had to find Duncan!  He shakily pushed himself upright.  He did not notice that he was in a tent, that Ceremal and Koln slept on at his feet, that he had been dressed in a much too large shirt as some sort of nightgown.  He found the entrance flap and thrust it open.  He would not stop until he found the leader of the Grey Wardens.

Duncan sat staring into the fire.  He mused that he should be asleep.  But he had already tried that tonight and it seemed he wouldn’t be able to.  Why?  No visions had come to him, the buzz of the distant darkspawn was the same as before… So why was there this feel of anxiousness inside him?

“Duncan!”

The Grey Warden jumped at his name, an act that had not happened to him in a very long time.  Shocked, he turned, and found Saleà standing near him.  The city elf was panting, a very strange fact since the tent where they had brought their newest Wardens to rest was only a few yards away.  His arms were wrapped around himself, black hair wildly askew from dreams or thrashing, and the shirt they had dressed him in for sleep slipping completely off one shoulder.  But it was his eyes that caught his attention:  gold iris glowing in its own light and not the flickering of the fire, wild, frightened, but most of all knowing.  Before he could speak one of the young rogue’s hands darted to his neck and yanked the newly given pendant from him.  He thrust it out, holding it so Duncan would see.  Behind him, a white form moved away from the tent.  

“You have to change it!  Change it now, it might be the chance.  The only chance she has!  This isn’t the right one, if I keep it and go she won’t survive!  But if I take the other one, that can keep for centuries, the one you can only get from a certain kind, I can mix it.  I’ll know how to mix it then.  And then she’ll survive!”  Saleà barely paused to breath, the pendant shaking with his passion as he tried to get some message across to him.  

What did he mean?  Or more importantly, how did he know?  “Saleà…”  He soothed, turning to him slowly.  “You have been dreaming.  You might still be dreaming now.  I don’t know what you are speaking of…”

Saleà sucked in a breath.  He wheeled back like he had been hit but then caught himself and surged forward.  “You do know it!  Someone is going to die, die like Ceremal was going to die, but I have the chance to save her.  But it won’t work, I can’t do it, with this!”  He shook the pendant and then pointed.  Pointed right at the pack next to Duncan’s side.  And then the elf was crying.  “Please, Duncan.  Help me.  I can’t…if she dies…  I need to change the blood.  With all that will come to pass between now and then…you can only help me _now_.”

Duncan stared at the young elf.  All that he was saying made o sense.  He spoke of things he couldn’t know and things he shouldn’t know.  Yet…  Something had been revealed to Saleà.  He could feel it.  The older man slowly held out a hand for the pendant.  It dropped into his palm with no further instruction.  Saleà’s golden eyes never left him as he worked.  He could feel them watching as he poured the blood from the Joining into the fire, narrow as he pulled the vial of closely guarded blood from its locked box, and relax as he poured the new blood in and secure the pendant’s cap.  The elf gripped it tightly in his hands, fingers deftly working to repair the clasp.  “Saleà…is this the first time you have seen a vision?”

Saleà shook his head and wild curls bouncing back and forth.  The body that had been wired with anxiety and frustration was physically beginning to relax.  Like Saleà was finally waking up.  “No.  I saw my mother being killed.  My cousin breaking his leg.  I pulled chains of blood from a white marked elf’s neck.”  He sucked in a soft breath and looked around, blinking owlishly.  “Is he the same one? As my dream elf?  I had forgotten that one…two years ago it happened.  I want to know what happened to him, if that look in his green eyes has changed.”

“I see.”  Duncan rose.  He settled gentle hands on the elf’s small shoulders and steered him back towards the tent.  “That is a rare trait… a very rare trait indeed.  Protect it, by protecting yourself.  But never, ever fail to listen to them.”

“Of course.”  Saleà nodded, yawning.  Duncan checked that Koln and Ceremal were still sleeping soundly before holding back the tent flap so Saleà could enter.  The elf took a step forward, then paused.  He looked back over his shoulder and his expression was one of sadness.  “We’re all going to really miss you Duncan.” With that, he was gone.  Duncan released the flap and watched it settle into place.  He didn’t move.

Miss him?  What could he ever mean by that?


	6. Tower Rise and Tower Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Each of the Wardens three has a task, a place. They just hope they can do it well as the battle begins.

The feeling was strange. Or was it a sense? With his eyes closed he could see and feel alike. Two forms so bright and then a few handfuls of other, dimmer ones. One was violet and young, trying to burn but struggling. The other was golden and playful, bouncing along with the whisper of wolves in its wake. Koln. Saleà. That was who the lights belonged, the people he sensed that slept near him.

Beyond that Ceremal felt nothing.

The shock finally brought him to the plane of wakefulness. He felt nothing! No crawling underneath his skin, no strain against his heart and lungs, no awful sense of darkness pulling down at every limb. The elf pinched himself to be sure it was no dream. But... where was he and how had he gotten better? Looking around him revealed that he was in a small tent, the beds on either side revealed two companions: Koln with limbs akimbo and bedding twisted and Saleà burrowed deep in what could only be described as the nest.

The two were awakened by laughter. Ceremal's bright and happy laughter at simply being alive.

"Yes, I'm awake! No I don't hurt, I feel fine… I take that back, I'm starving!" Ceremal nearly lost his balance when the two threw their arms around them. "Where are we?"

"A tent in the camp… We passed the Grey Warden's joining, the three of us. We almost lost you!" Saleà's hands were shaking a little bit as they ran over his face again just to be sure.

"And the…other two?" Ceremal's eyes narrowed a little as he tried to bring up the memory. "I don't remember them well, just that they were there… And there is another man that was already a Warden?"

The two were silent for so long he had to ask again. Finally Koln answered "No they…didn't. One died when he took the ritual, I guess sometimes people make it and other times they don't. The other… refused to do it after the other died and he drew a sword on Duncan…"

They still seemed reluctant to reveal what had truly happened, but he wouldn't press them. "I think I can conclude what happened."

"But that begs the question~" A grin, much like the bird chasing smile of a cat, is suddenly across Saleà's face, "How much do you remember about the other Warden?" The smile turned to knowing laughter as Ceremal and Koln looked at him in confusion. "Ooooh this is too good! C'mon, we should probably get dressed and find Duncan."

They found their clothing and equipment in the tent, and Koln's mabari Neera outside. Ceremal had to smile at the elation that came over the young human at the little reunion with his dog. The two were deeply attached…and the mabari could possibly be the only family Koln had left. The trio traveled through the camp that buzzed with more activity then they had seen it before. They found Duncan towards the west, meeting with the human King and others.

A young human male noticed them first. He had been standing away from the crowd, possibly waiting for their arrival by the way his eyes were looking at all who entered. He grinned and came to meet them. Ceremal found himself smiling back. Only after he had done it did he wonder why. Did he know this human? Perhaps, he did seem familiar…like a voice and face floating through the haze of the taint.

"It's about time!" The man greeted, quiet enough not to disrupt the meeting. "I was just about to come wake you all up, you three were sleeping so long!" The smile and joking attitude, which Ceremal was getting the feeling were very much part of the human's personality, faded a bit with his next words. "How are you all feeling?"

Koln shuffled and said nothing. Saleà said he felt fine. The Dalish could feel, like a soft tendril of revelation, that the human was struggling with shame that he had felt fear at the pain and visions and that the city elf had been affected too but was dealing with it.

"I am well…" What was this human's name? Ceremal marveled at a part of him that insistently told him he knew. Then, just as quickly, it bloomed in his mind like a flower under the sun. "…Alistair."

"You are? That's great!" Alistair exclaimed. He babbled on in the excitement. "Did you have dreams? I had terrible dreams after my joining."

"Some, yes." If Ceremal closed his eyes he could summon them up. Knew what he had seen in them. But he didn't fear them. "But to just be…well again. To be awake and not have the feeling of it crawling beneath my skin, tearing into the back of my mind. Dreams seem a small price to pay. Thank you for the part you played in my healing, Alistair."

Was…was he blushing at his thanks? What an odd human. And yet Ceremal found himself smiling a little at the blush. Liking that his words brought it there.

Alistair tried to recover from the blush. "Just my duty…yeah, duty! All Grey Wardens get dreams and sense darkspawn and stuff. Duncan will probably explain it a lot better than I can later. We should go to him. The King actually requested all of you. Wish you had been here to see Loghain's face when he said that." He led their way towards the meeting, Ceremal at his side and the others behind.

While it seemed more organized that Ceremal had anticipated from humans, it was a lot louder. The King was already speaking in a raised voice at the Teryn. "Loghain, **_my_** decision is final. I will stand by the Grey Wardens in this assault."

Loghain growled back. "Cailan, you are being risky! The darkspawn horse is too dangerous for you to be playing hero like a child!"

"If that's the case, perhaps we should wait for the _Orlesian-_ " The King drew out and emphasized every syllable of the name. "-forces to join us." Did they purposely want to drive the other to anger? Admittedly, some Dalish meetings could become pretty heated but never like this.

"We don't need them! We can defend ourselves! Enough of this foolish notion…"

"It is not a fool notion. Our arguments with the Orlesians are a thing of the past….and you will remember _who is king_." Good. At least young King Cailan had enough sense of his position to know when to throw his weight down. Teryn Loghain continuing muttering under his breath, but the King turned his attention to the Grey Warden Commander. "Duncan, are your men ready for battle?"

"They are, your majesty." Even as he answered Duncan took a secret glance at them just to be sure they were indeed standing there.

The King pounced on them in a second. No doubt to give the teryn no more chance to speak. "These are the recruits I met earlier? I think congratulations are in order." The three of them gave their thanks, nodding heads in respect. "Ever Grey Warden is needed now. It is an honor to join their ranks."

The king's actions didn't help much. "Your fascination with glory and legends will be your undoing, Cailan. We must attend to reality."

"Fine." King Cailan was nearly whining, exasperated. "Speak you strategy, after the Grey Wardens and I draw the darkspawn into charging our lines…?"

"You were alert the tower to light the beacon, which will a signal to my men to charge from cover—"

"To flank the darkspawn, I remember. The tower of Ishal in the ruins, right? Who will light this beacon?"

"I have a few men stationed there. A vital but not dangerous task."

"Then we should send our best… Hmm… Alistair and one of the new recruits should go, to make sure it's done~" The King looked up at them, thrilled, as did Loghain, who looked ready to stab something. The veiled arguing continued, but they were only keeping one ear on the flow of conversation anyways as they decided amongst themselves who would go with Alistair. Or rather Saleà was listing their pros and cons.

"It should probably be me. Your sword and bow would be worth more in the battle than my tiny knife. But I'm quick, and that would help in the tower. If something, anything, went wrong I could scurry up faster than anything."

"Hey, what would I be doing?" Alistair challenged playfully.

Saleà only grinned right back. "I dunno… heroically shielding me with your immense armor, giving me time to get away? Or bemoaning your twisted ankle?"

Ceremal found his mouth inexplicably dry. He wanted to be the one to go. Not to be the one to light the beacon. Anyone could do that. But…if something happened to this odd young human whose smile and laugh he liked… Or the idea of Saleà being separated from him and Koln either... Yet in the end, Saleà was right. He was small and agile, and in this situation speed would be the greatest asset. So he relented, just has Loghain relented and allowed the Grey Wardens to be the one that lit the beacon.

But it didn't stop Ceremal from pulling Saleà to the side later. "Please keep safe Saleà. I don't know how it could go wrong and Koln and I are in more danger, yet still… And if…if you could…?"

"Keep an eye on Alistair?"

Ceremal drew back in surprised. "How did?" Saleà just smiled again and nodded.

None of them noticed the quiet aside Teryn Loghain made as he left, casting a knowing glance at them over his shoulder. " _Yes Cailan. A glorious moment for us all_."

Once the meeting was complete Duncan came to them to fill out their instructions. That was, of course, after checking after their health and making sure each of them was ready. "As the king said, it is the duty of Alistair and one of you to light the beacon. Have you decided which one of you will accompany him, or would you prefer I choose?"

"Saleà is, sir." Koln offered and then fixed an eye on Alistair. "And you had better bring him back safe and sound."

"Of course, but," Alistair looked to Duncan, disappointed. "I really won't see battle? I didn't say anything, well, because it was the King standing there, but he really needs two people up there?"

"Yes, Alistair, it is the King's personal request. If that is where he wants you, that is where you will be. Understood?" The older man gazed at Alistair until he agreed, and then turned to the last two. "As for you two, Koln, Ceremal, you shall be taking the place of two soldiers guarding the camp so they can join the battle."

"What?" Koln immediately protested. "Why can't we join the battle? Isn't that what you needed us here for?"

"I agree with Koln, Duncan." Ceremal, though much more calm about it, was just as surprised. Indeed, why would Duncan bring them to become Grey Wardens for the battle and then leave them out of it? "We are warriors. We know how to fight, sword and bow, and we have fought against darkspawn before where many of the others have most likely not. Why keep us away when we could be of use?"

Duncan drew himself up. His expression was like one in charge, while his voice placated only a little. "Because I have decided it so. Yes, this is what you have been brought here for, but I believe it is too soon. This battle may not be anything at all, like the skirmishes before it, so I would not risk you in something so small."

"And what if it isn't Duncan?" Koln's voice rose in anger. His mabari whined and pressed against his leg in an attempt to calm him. It didn't work. "What if it is a disaster and you all perish, while we could have done something to help? Instead of watching on like helpless children?"

"Then it will be so!"

Koln drew back at Duncan's reply, casting his eyes to the ground. His hands balled into tight shaking fists as he fought to control his tongue. Ceremal rested a calming hand on his arm, and felt another tendril of emotion float its way from Koln into himself. Ah, that was it. Koln was worried about Duncan, either becoming injured or killed in the battle without Koln being there to protect him. The Dalish looked at their Grey Warden leader, trying to pass the truth to him with his eyes.

Duncan seemed to understand. Well, sort of. "Koln. In truth, many roles are equal in importance. A soldier fighting in the field of battle can be just as important as a soldier who remains behind to guard the camp. You would keep the camp and let it remain a haven of safety who those who return from battle can rest, heal, without worry. If you need another reason, what if some of the darkspawn managed to slip past us and attacked the camp? You would be there to protect the people who remain in the camp. Do you understand, Koln?"

Ceremal watched as the human struggled once more how to answer. For a moment it looked like he would stamp his foot like a child and refuse, but then he sighed in defeat. "I will do as you ask Duncan…for now at least. But promise you will get word to us if you need us." Ceremal felt a little pride well up inside him. Koln himself was still growing up. The massacre of his family and castle had forced parts of him to see things before he was ready and mature before his time, but other parts were still in the mind and ways of a child. To be able to recognize the wisdom of others, even when everything within you fights to resist it, and then follow that wisdom, was an important thing to have.

Duncan looked at each in them in turn. Like a father making sure his children were ready to go out on an excursion, and behave as well. Despite the noise of the camp around them, their little world of five was quiet. At least for a few moments until Alistair piped up with, "Just so you know, if the king ever asks me to do something like putting on a dress and dancing the Remigold, I'm drawing the line, darkspawn or no."

All but Duncan burst out laughing. Even Koln. "It would be a good distraction!," Saleà managed to get out.

"Me shimming down the darkspawn line? Sure, we could kill them while they roll around laughing." Alistair chortled.

Ceremal smiled gently at him in thanks. He was glad the human recognized the need for Koln to be distracted; to not go to his duty angry and upset. And then added, "But I don't think we could find a dress in your size. I could sew you one though, I'm good at that."

"Oh Maker, there are more of him now…" Duncan sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He added just as softly, "Please keep them all safely under Your hand, watch over them all."

Just as it always seemed to do at the beginning of a battle that could very well change the entire world, the wind began to howl and the rain began to pour. It stopped neither side. In the flat ground that stretched before Ostagar the sides had gathered. Darkspawn emerging from the trees to the King's forces that stood waiting at the ready. The darkspawn, so ready and eager for death's blood, struck first. The King's army answered.

Ceremal watched from the camp, standing at a vantage point where he could see both the battle and the bridge, beyond which laid that tower. Koln and his mabari stood at his side. Though the tower might not be needed so quickly, they waited to be sure Saleà safely got across. Sure enough bounces of thick black hair and flashes of Grey Warden armor started to jog across. Ceremal's grip tightened on his bow as he watched the distant figures move. "Why do the humans not keep more soldiers on the bridge? Surely magic, arrows, ballista, and even catapults could be rained down from such a point."

"I don't know, perhaps the King or Teryn Loghain or another strategist thought the men would be more useful down on the battlefield-" Koln sucked in a gasp of shock as a bolder suddenly exploded across the side of bridge, doing enough damage to the stone that part of it crumbled, taking a couple of men and a ballista with it. Both sets of eyes were immediately locked on the bridge, searching, straining in the against the darkening sky.

"There! I see him!" Alistair's form appeared near one of the fire's that had been lighted on the bridge before. Saleà appeared soon after and they continued on. "Both of them, they're all right! They've made it across, they should be ok now."

Koln exhaled heavily in relief, just as great a relief that Ceremal felt. Now that the two were on the tower side they would be safe and out of harm's way. They could breathe easy. Both of them turned to the battle raging on beneath.

"Are you ready? Just in case the worst happens?"

Koln turned and looked back towards camp. Here and there he could pick out people watching, those that could hear the battle but wouldn't come to the edge to watch. He could see the worry and fright on their faces. Many were ordinary people: cooks, servants, messengers, stable masters, weaponsmiths, and the like. Each having a part to do in the running of a camp and of an army, but each mostly helpless if it came to darkspawn breaking through. He looked down at Neera, who quietly whined and furrowed her nails into the ground, ready for battle. He turned back to Ceremal.

"Yes, am I ready."

What was found across the bridge was a different story for Alistair and Saleà. What should have been a calm but tense scene of soldiers holding the area around the tower was utter chaos. Men and women running everywhere, to or away from the tower. Injured or carrying injured themselves, or just fleeing. "Something's wrong, you don't think the darkspawn…?" Alistair voiced aloud the same fear Saleà had, and both began sprinting towards the tower.

Soldiers who met them on their way and stopped once they recognized them as Grey Wardens confirmed their fears. "The tower's been taken! Most of our men are dead! The-the darkspawn, everywhere, coming up through the lower chambers…"

They didn't even wait for words to be finished. Even as they raced closer darkspawn fell upon them. Alistair's sword cut through the air, meeting darkspawn weapon or flesh. Injuring and stopping and rending. Saleà's knife danced through the air, one moment there and the next buried in a killing mark on enemy flesh. Some they saved from being overwhelmed by darkspawn and others they arrived too late, unable to stop and unable to do anything but fight. They had to win the tower back! At some point a tower guard and a circle mage joined them. When Saleà could never be sure; he only became aware of them when they reached the foot of the tower and Alistair pulled him back to stop for only a moment.

"Save your speed for getting up there, Saleà. We'll fight a path for you, but even if we fall you must keep going!" Saleà nodded and pushed through the door into the base of the tower.

Where all was quiet. Eerily so.

For a moment, a brief moment, Saleà hoped that the soldier had been wrong. Maybe they thought the darkspawn come from the tower but had taken a long route to attack from the side, or scaled the cliffs, or some other way that meant they wouldn't have to fight their way up the tower.

Until he saw the tripwire spread across the entrance into the first room. Crude and no way of human (or other) make, so it had to be darkspawn. He motioned the others to stay put and not race into it, and then crouched, swiftly deactivating it the way his mother had taught him so long ago.

Then there was a howl of rage and half the room before them burst into flame.

Saleà cursed and shielded his eyes from the sudden flash and ducked behind cover. The other three were still in the safety of the room behind him thus able to surge forward to cover him until he could get back on his feet. Luckily there were only a few darkspawn in the room, but unluckily there was one there that seemed to have power over magic. The darkspawn had their own version of a mage!

There wasn't any time to dwell on it. The darkspawn had indeed broken their way into the tower from underground, the gaping hole in one of the floors evidence of so. When, _when_ and never _if_ he told himself, the tower was retaken they'd have to close it up to be sure it could never happen again. The main part of the darkspawn that had broken through the tower must have gone outside or back through the tunnel once they were finished. All the really met was a handful of forces. Enough to give them trouble, and enough it seemed to wipe out the tower's forces. It made Saleà's stomach turn that with each passing floor, they never met with a single surviving tower guard or soldier. They closest were a couple mabari still locked in their cages, the others of their kind dead from sword or spear or arrow that have been shoved through the bars.

He hoped that Koln and Ceremal were safe, having a tense but uneventful time back at camp. That the darkspawn weren't making their way across the bridge. He caught his breath and continued upward.

Ceremal yelled as he loosed another arrow. It alerted a cooking maid to dart away in time to save her life. The arrow found it's mark in the darkspawn eye socket, cracking through bone into the brain and killing the monster. Without pause he drew and nocked another arrow, and let it fly into the next one. The only time his eyes moved from the darkspawn was to fruitlessly search for Koln and make sure he still had arrows. Only a few moments ago it seemed they had been fighting side by side until a surge of darkspawn had forced them apart. If only he could see his face or a flash of white hair. Another arrow against the string, ignoring the ache and bleeds and blisters on his fingers. He had lost his protective glove at one point to a monster's claw, but he couldn't let it slow him down.

He prayed to the Creator that both Saleà and Alistair were all right. One moment all had been as perfectly safe as could be. The camp safe and far beyond the battle. And the next moment their own battle was upon them as darkspawn surged into the camp. He, Koln, and the other guards fought as hard as they could. But even then they seemed to sense it. It wasn't a battle to defend the camp; it was a battle to stall the enemy long enough that those within the camp could flee to safety.

A whisper of bloodlust in his mind and a screech warned him that one had gotten too close. He dropped the arrow and swung the bow as hard as he could. Unlike most human bows, Dalish bows were crafted to not only serve as an instrument to release arrows but as a weapon themselves. The thick and sharp-tapered front of the bow landed against the darkspawn's head and all but shattered the side of its skull. The darkspawn dropped in a heap…

…just as Ceremal did moments later as a metal force exploded against his own head. Darkness danced before his eyes, his ears rang, the blood pumped in utter torment. Through hazy vision he forced his eyes open and found a tall, bulky darkspawn standing over him, grinning wickedly in triumph beneath his horned helmet. A heavy shield was in one hand, Ceremal's blood smeared upon it, and a longsword in the other that he started to raise in a stabbing motion. Ceremal, helpless, watched it start to fall.

An action that might have been completed if the Hurlock still had his head. Ceremal thought it was a dying fancy, a way for his swimming head to deal with the pain. But no! It was true! When his dizzying vision came back into focus the darkspawn at crumpled to the ground, it's behead eyes staring in disbelief a few feet away. Behind the body stood a human man with no pants, along with an axe and a hasty thrown on chestplate. Looking at the man's face, Ceremal distantly realized that it was the prisoner that he had brought food to the other day. The man shakily smirked. "Ho, kind Dalish! I think I just returned your generosity…but I think I'll stay right here until you can get back on your feet. Don't worry none, ok?"

Ceremal exhaled, his mind thinking how sometimes kindness is returned to in ways you never would expect at times, and that he really should get up, and that he really should fight the unconsciousness his body was sinking into…

Saleà waited at the top of the stairs near the closed door for the others to catch their breath. He hoped, willed, that this was the end. No more blasted floors and endless stairs. He knew he could leave the others behind and dash in to light the beacon, but something told him that wasn't a good idea. So he gripped his knives into a readier position and waited. The elf didn't remember which floor he had picked up the second knife, only that he wasn't going to question such a decent weapon. Though he had only ever been trained and fought with one knife, his mother had wielded two when she was alive. Although…it was a bit strange how quickly he had picked up on it once a second blade was in his hands.

"There, we're…we're ready as we'll ever be. I guess. Damn stairs. Next time we'll just give Ceremal a burning arrow and pray it hits the damn beacon." Only Saleà appreciated Alistair's humor at such a time. The tower guard and mage seemed to have regained their breath as well. So Saleà opened the door, and opened it onto a monstrosity. A darkspawn unlike any they had seen so far crouched on the far side of the room. It stood as tall as a house, with limbs as thick as trees, and wicked horns curling from its skull. It tore at a dead body, sucking as its teeth crunched on flesh, bones, and armor alike. It only turned from its…meal…when the tower guard screamed in horror.

The ogre (it could only be an ogre, the terrible monster that had been the bad guy in many of Papa's stories) then decided that the newly arrived fresh people would make a much better meal than the dead ones. The only blessing that there was no other darkspawn in the room save the ogre, and the ogre was trouble enough. They fought on instinct. Avoid its hands and feet that could crush or swing. Don't get pinned down in a corner with it's attention on you. Hit it while it can't see you. Find and attack a weak spot. And holy fuck get out of it's way when it lowers it's head and charges like a battering ram.

They lost the tower guard that way, choking on his own horrified scream as hung with the horn pierced through its middle.

Ankles. Neck. Eyes. Base of the skull. All kill or weakening points if he could just get to them! He would have to, since the wounds on all the other points they had managed to make weren't slowing the monster down at all. Even the chest since the thing wasn't wearing any armor to protect fragile lungs and heart!

Saleà dodged one swinging hand, and was caught up by another. Alistair swore and hacked at the beast. Saleà could feel spells hitting the beast in the chest, but nothing stopped it. Saleà could feel through his tainted blood and from the creature's eyes that it wondered if he would pop, like the others, with his organs spilling out from split-apart skin. No way in hell he was going to give it the chance!

He slammed a knife as hard as he could into the beast wrist and kicked just as hard at the ogre's face. Veins and muscles were severed as the knife sliced through them. The monster's ugly snout-nose crumbled at the forced of his kick, so violent that it surged upward into the fragile bone behind and into the brain. The ogre swayed….this way….that way….then dropped Saleà as it tipped backwards. Saleà had enough sense to roll as he hit the floor so the only thing he would come up was a magnificently bruised torso and probably a lot of cracked ribs. It hurt to breath. "I'm alive….Alistair? Mage…person?"

The second lesson he learned was make sure the damn thing was freaking dead. Or hit it again. Double tap as his mother had called it.

They lost the mage that way. The man poked it with the end of his staff and broke his spine as the monster's hand swatted him into a nearby wall.

So Saleà jumped on the thing's chest, sinking his knives over and over again, making sure to slip between ribs to hit vital heart and lungs.

Until Alistair pulled him off. Covered in the ogre's blood. Holding him still until he stopped shaking. Holding him until he knew Saleà was sure that they were both alive and nothing else was going to attack them.

"Light…light the beacon. We've probably missed the signal. I'm allright now, 'stair."

Alistair nodded and ran to light the beacon. The tower of flame that shot up from it was like a warm wave of relief. Mission done, you did well.

The feeling died when Saleà noticed a good number of arrows were sprouting from his chest. Alistair's voice came at a distance. "What…what are they doing? Loghain's men are going the other way-hurk!"

_Each of them, in their own cocoon of darkness, felt Duncan fall._


	7. Those Who Survive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When they awaken, the Alistair and the Three find that all they have left is each other.

‘Twas going to be very interesting.  Very interesting indeed, Morrigan decided.  Of course anything out of their normal routine was going to lead to something different happening, and having the sudden stay of four Grey Wardens in your hut is definitely one of them.  Having them brought back by your own mother is even more interesting.

Why had she saved them was indeed going to be one of the questions they would ask…once any of them got the brain to do so. The three who were awake hadn’t so far, other things being more important to them.  Like being moopy or withdrawn or in denial.  Or refusing to wake up in one case.  She’d like her bed back thank you very much.  

It had been a very close call for all of them, from what Mother had said and what she had seen with her own eyes.  She had swooped into the battle to save the four Grey Wardens, two from the top of the tower called Ishal and two from what had once been the King’s Camp.  All injured, three unconscious, one very not unconscious.  It had amused Mother to no end that he had tried to fight her transformed state to protect the others, funny until the human man with noble blood slipped from fight into shock once they landed.  

Koln, the white haired human noble, had been the one left standing.  He had come out the easiest; a few surface wounds and pure exhaustion.  But he was taking it the worst.  He had gone silent, ghosting here and there on silent but shaky steps, watching everything with distantly dead eyes.  Yet somehow awake enough to stand stubborn by his companions.  Even now he refused to be budged from his vigil at the elf’s side.

Alistair, the previously irritating one, kept on being irritating.  He had been knocked around quite a bit and with so many dents in his armor, with bruises blooming beneath, that it was truly unusable now.  He’d woken up only a few hours after arriving and as the senior of the Wardens there (babies, her Mother called the other three) should have taken control.  He failed and spent his time veering between grief and denial.

Ceremal, the oddly coloured Dalish, at the very least was useful.  He’d taken a nasty blow to the head that left him with a concussion, and had cut his bow fingers halfway to the bone.  A good fighter if not much else.  But he knew healing plants and brews, and how to cook, and how to talk to the other two and keep them out of the way.  To calm Alistair’s whimpering and keep Koln from stabbing her each time she got close to the other elf.

And the last was Saleà, the only worthy of interest here.  Mostly because he was the cute one who knew how to speak well.  Not that he’d done a lot of that since he’d arrived.  He was in the worst shape having taken several arrows in the back with two piercing hard enough and ill-placed enough to jut through.  If he slept through tonight it would be the third without awakening.  Mother had struggled with him, and the other Wardens knew it.  The first night they had slept around Saleà’s bed like some damn wall, as if their presence would keep him from dying.  It was too much of a hassle to get around them during the night so Mother had banished them.

Perhaps it was something interesting that only her Mother could sense or see that had led her to save him.  After all, the spirit that had appeared to watch over Saleà the second night was a tantalizing hint at such.  It had happened later, when she had risen to take over the city born elf’s care from Mother.  There wasn’t much to do, except make sure he didn’t die, so her mind had wandered to things.  When she looked back, eyes half in her magic, it was standing there.  Or rather, she.  Or rather, they.  A woman of curly black hair to her waist, a waist with knives about it.  A woman of pointed ears, of darker skin, of torn robes of flowing red.  Her eyes, never leaving the elf’s face, glowed a pupil-less gold.  About her, about the bed, and about the house had also waited wolves of black and a single great wolf of white.  Morrigan would blink, and they would disappear, until the next moment her eyes unfocused and they there they would be.

Her Mother had thought her silly when she mentioned it in the morning.  But Morrigan knew that she had seen it as well.  

No matter.  Thinking of strange spirits didn’t seem to be waking Saleà up any faster.  So she stirred the stew before returning to her thoughts.  There were few survivors from the battle, save either stragglers long gone or others captured and dragged underground.  What had been the battlefield was truly grisly, even for her.  Bodies everywhere, and darkspawn swarming on them to feed.  Their area of the Korcari Wilds was safe due to Mother’s magic keeping them away.  Outside of the magic, however, ‘twas uncertain what could happen.  The horde was moving on, so there was a chance of avoiding it if one was stupid enough to step beyond the magic.  Ooo, what tale would she tell if one finally asked how Mother managed to rescue them? She liked the giant bird version the best.  At any rate, there was still no reasonable thought of why she had saved the four Grey Wardens, almost specifically.  If it had been her she would have gone for the king.

Kings always made good ransoms.

She had nearly run out of interesting things to ponder when the tanned elf decided to awake.  There wasn’t any chance she could miss it either, what with the strangled cry that came from the previously mute human sitting by the bed. 

Saleà knew without opening his eyes that he was in a strange place.  Not home.  Not at a camp.  Marsh water and rot.  Inside air, fire warmth, cooking fire.  Ceremal blazed into existence outside, Alistair flickering beside him, and Koln burning next to him.  He opened his eyes to Koln’s violet gaze peering anxiously at him.  Koln looked a wreck, and that’s how Saleà knew something was wrong.  He hadn’t seen the distant and dead look in Koln’s eyes except for when they had first met.  He kept their eyes locked as he waited for Koln to return, lightly resting a hand on the human’s shaking one that grasped his shoulder.

“Sa-s-Saleà!  You…you woke up!  You’re alive, right!? Please tell me you’re alive.  Say something, anything, you have to…”

“Hi…”  Saleà croaked out.  Probably not the most appropriate greeting, but it still worked.  It was what Koln needed to hear.  A smile of relief split the human’s face even as he buried his face in Saleà’s bandaged chest and cried.

  A voice came to his ears over Koln’s soft sobs.  A familiar voice.  “Ah your eyes finally open.  Mother shall be pleased.”

Saleà found the voice’s source standing by the fire, obviously trying to ignore the crying human.  “I remember you,”  How could he not?  He wasn’t one for girls at all, but even he couldn’t miss her with a shirt like that.  “The Lady from the Wilds…Morrigan.”

He sank into the pillows, forcing his brain to wake up as the witch talked to fill in the blanks.  They had been overwhelmed in the tower.  Not just them, but the king’s entire force.  Loghain did not respond to the signal they had fought so hard to light.  No, he turned and quit the field, leaving all those who remained to fight for themselves.  Massacre.  Saleà didn’t know if the numbness was from the news or from his injuries.  Just….how could this have happened?  All those people were dead.  Duncan.  The King.  The rest of the Grey Wardens.  He, Koln, Ceremal, and Alistair.  The very, very few that were left.  He could feel his body want to break down into shakes, but he forced the feeling away.  He needed to be strong, if not for himself then for Koln.

“Mother asked to see you when you awoke,”  Morrigan said at last, eyeing Saleà’s hand that stroked the human warrior’s white hair.  A grown man frightened like a child.  Were all Grey Wardens this frail after danger or battle?  

Koln jumped as Saleà started moving, attempting to slide from the bed.  His arm was immediately around his waist and his cracked voice in his ear urging him to take it slow.  The elf was secretly glad the human was there.  Despite being abed for a while his legs screamed as he stood and he had to lean against Koln to keep his balance while pulling his pants on.  He could see only light scars where the arrows had pierced, but despite the healing his chest still ached and his breathing just a little shallow where the lungs still recovered.  

Once he was dressed Saleà turned to the young witch, smiling.  “Thank you for your assistance, Morrigan.”

The woman stared in response, until “I…you are welcome, though mother did most of the work.  I am no healer.”  She left it at that and turned back to the stew.

Just hours before they had been here, it seemed.  Standing in a witch’s yard receiving assistance while Duncan and the army waited.  Duncan…  It hurt.  In a numb, distant way that crept closer.  Outside of this hut and the marsh, the place and the people that had been their temporary home were gone. Perhaps a straggler here and there, but they were people they would never know of for sure. All that was left was the four of them, survivors they could see with their own eyes, touch with their own hands, ones they could hear and speak to.

Alistair stood looking over the marsh.  He barely spoke or responded.  He only seemed to listen to the soft words of the Dalish standing next to him.  The human was wearing completely different armor than Saleà remembered.  This set must have been thrown together with what was available.  Ceremal’s hair was loose and seemed to be drying from a wash.  Small bandages covered the fingers of his bow hand, injured due to the loss of his glove.  Only he turned when the door to the hut opened, deep blue eyes growing wide when he caught sight of the elf from the city.  “Alistair, he’s awake!”

“See?  Here is your fellow Grey Warden.  You young men worry far too much.”  The old woman spoke, but had no need to.  There was no one there to hear her.  The little elf was lost between the three bigger bodies of his blood-brothers.  They worried and fussed over him, voices rising and falling like a sea around him.  For a moment, she saw him standing alone, a top of cliff.  A force in and of himself at the center of a hurricane.  But that was far off and not of this moment.  

“You…you’re alive! I thought you were dead for sure.” Alistair gasped, crushing the elf in a hug.

“What, afraid I was going to leave you guys to have all the fun?  I mean you need a little guy to balance all you tall freaks out~”  His humor, so much a part of himself, was comforting in its own way.  But even it did not do much to break the sorrow within them.

Alistair continued.  “Duncan’s dead.  The Grey Wardens, even the king…They’re all dead.  This doesn’t seem real.  If it weren’t for Morrigan’s mother, we’d be dead on top of that tower.”

The woman snorted.  “Do not speak of me as if I am not here, lad.”

Alistair floundered.  He couldn’t be sure if it was that she was an older woman, or the extreme power her very presence seemed to give off.  “Well, er… what I mean is… what are we supposed to call you?  You never told us your name.”

“I think it’s because we never asked your name before, Grandmother.”  Saleà pointed out.  He bowed his head to her again.

Whatever people his blood came from, they had obviously had teachings on respect.  She liked him even more.  “Names are pretty, but useless. The Chasind folk call me Flemeth.  I suppose it will do.”

The two elves nodded their heads in greeting.  Koln looked off into the distance, as if he had heard the name before but could not remember.  Alistair, on the other hand, baulked.  “THE Flemeth from the legends?  Daveth was right—you’re the witch of the wilds, aren’t you?”

Flemeth decided that did not warrant a response.  Why confirm what was so secret while so blatantly obvious?  It was Koln, surprisingly, who spoke next.  “I hope you don’t see me as ungrateful for asking, for I thank you for saving us—“

“You had better thank me.”

“—but I wonder:  why did you save us?”

“Well, we cannot have all the Grey Wardens dying at once, can we?”  Flemeth grinned at their surprised expressions.  “ Someone has to deal with these darkspawn.  It has always been the Grey Wardens duty to unite the lands against the Blight.  Or did that change when I wasn’t looking?”

“The land is hardly united, thanks to Loghain…”  Koln whispered.  Hidden behind Ceremal’s back, his hand tightened into a fist until the fingernails bit into his palm.  How could this have happened?  It was just as it had been with Arl Howe.  But instead of betraying a whole family, Loghain had betrayed his king and the entire country.  

Alistair shook his head.  He searched for an answer that none could ever answer.  “It doesn’t make any sense.  Why would he do it?”

Even Flemeth’s answer was distant.  As if she, with all her age and sight and wisdom, could not see it either.  As if she was saddened by the state of the world.  “Now that is a good question.  Men’s hearts hold shadows darker than any tainted creature.  Perhaps he believes the Blight is an army he can outmaneuver.  Perhaps he does not see that the evil behind is the true threat.”

The four wardens shivered.  They had not seen it.  They had only heard of it. They had only sensed it.  “The Archdemon…”

There was a lull in the air.  Out in the marsh, life went on.  Fish and insects lapped in the water.  Birds swooped through the trees.  Ceremal took the chance to ask a question that had been bothering him.  “What would the teryn hope to gain by betraying his own king?”

It was Alistair who turned to answer him.  “The throne?  He’s the father of the queen.  Still, I can’t see how he’ll get away with murder.”  Ceremal agreed.  If the Dalish knew that their leader or the First had been replaced by a murderer, none of them would have standed for it.  

Flemeth, however, scoffed at the human.  “You speak as if he would be the first king to gain his throne that way. Grow up, boy!”

Koln couldn’t take it anymore.  “If Arl Eamon knew what he did, he would never stand for it!”  He exploded.   “The Landsmeet would never stand for it!  There would be civil war!”  He felt a small hand settle on his arm, and he sighed in frustration.  He tried to let the anger dissipate from him, but it was hard.  Saleà squeezed his arm in reassurance.  “Perhaps we should go to him then,” the elf offered.  

Alistair muddled on the idea, scratching at the scruff on his chin.  “I supposed…Arl Eamon wasn’t at Ostagar; he still has all his men.  And he was Calain’s uncle.”  The more he spoke, the more his eyes brightened.  There was an idea forming in his mind.  “I know him.  He’s a good man, respected in the Landsmeet.  Of course!  We could go to Redcliffe and appear to him for help!”

“And surely there are other allies we could call on as well,”  Ceremal added.  

Alistair darted to a pack he had set on the ground.  He ruffled through it, searching for something.  Didn’t he have them?  When they had brought the recovered papers back to Duncan, hadn’t he given them back to Alistair for safe keeping?  He held the papers up triumphantly when he found them.  “Of course!  The treaties!  Grey Wardens can demand aid from dwarves, elves, mages, and other places!  They’re obligated to help us during a Blight!”

“I may be old but dwarves, elves, mages, this Arl Eamon, and who knows what else…this sounds like an army to me.”  The others were too excited, too grasping on the hope that fluttered in their chests, to notice Flemeth’s reaction.  But Saleà saw.  She looked…pleased.  As if this was exactly what she had been expecting, and waiting, to happen.  She saw his stare and returned it.  

Ceremal’s slim fingers traced over the edges of the papers.  “So can we do this?  Go to Redcliffe and these other places and…build an army?”  It seemed like a sound a plan as any.  

“Why not?  Isn’t that what us Grey Wardens do?”  Koln offered.  His mind raced at the logistics of it.  He could hear his father’s voice, speaking of planning and battles from his memory.  Unable to keep a hopeful smile from his face, his youth shone through as he turned to the old witch woman.  “Thank you for everything, Flemeth.”

“No, no.  Thank you.  You are the Grey Wardens here, not I.  Now, before you go, there is yet one more thing I can offer you.”  She motioned to the house, and to the figure approaching.  Her daughter, not caring for the group outside, had only just come out.  

“ The stew is bubbling, mother dear.  Shall we have four guests for the eve or none?”

“The Grey Wardens are leaving shortly, girl.”  Flemeth answer.  “And you will be joining them.”

“Such a shame—what??”  Had she just heard her mother correctly?  She had been so pleased that the men would be out of their hair.  Things would have been nice and orderly, returning to normal.  But it sounded like her mother said that she was going with them!

“You heard me girl.  The last time I checked you had ears!”  Flemeth laughed.  It had been such a long time she had seen surprise on her daughter’s face.  As she expected, it was the small elf who jumped to her defense.  “Thank you, but if Morrigan doesn’t wish to join us…”

Flemeth immediately countered that her daughter had magic that would be extremely useful.  Plus, having grown up in the area, who better was there to know the Wilds and how to use them to get past the horde?  Morrigan glowered.  “Have I no say in this?”  A look from her mother, however, silenced her protests.  She had been itching to get out of the Wilds… to see what lay beyond them.  

“ Not to…look a gift horse in the mouth, but won’t this add to our problems?”  Alistair said slowly.  He didn’t even know why he was pointing it out.  The two mages had already turned their glares on him.  “Out of the wilds, she’s an apostate.”

“If you do not wish help from us illegal mages, young man, perhaps I should have left you on that tower.”

“Ha!”  All turned to the city elf who had barked a laugh.  His hand was already clamped to his mouth.  But he still chortled underneath.  His twinkling eyes betrayed him.

“Mother…this is not how I wanted this.  I am not even ready---“  For the first time since they had met her in the Wilds, Morrigan didn’t sound sure of herself.  It was a girl uncertain she should leave her mother.  

Flemeth shook her head.  “You must be ready.  Alone, these four must unite Ferelden against the darkspawn.  They need you, Morrigan.  Without you, they will surely fail, and all will perish under the Blight, even I.”

The foreshadowing of events to come couldn’t have been any more plain.  

Morrigan gave up, sighing in irritation.  “I…understand.”   

“And you, wardens?  Do you understand?  I give you that which I value above all else in this world.  I do this because you must succeed.”  There wasn’t any room for the four to say know. 

Morrigan returned to the hut to gather her things.  The wardens gathered their own meager possessions together as well.  There wasn’t much beyond the clothes, armor, and weapons  that had been with them  in the battle.  There was a pack here and there, precious things tucked into pockets.  But that was all.  

“We’ll probably have to restock somewhere.”  Koln grimaced at the collection.  “Water carriers, a food supply to add to hunting, extra weapons and ammunition for Ceremal’s bow, a better set of armor for Alistair.”  He knew part of any battle was one of supplies.  They weren’t going to survive long if their equipment was a rag tag as they were.  He didn’t notice, as did none of the others, that he had stepped into the position of leader.  

“I am at your disposal, Grey Wardens.”  Morrigan declared at her return. One glance at the equipment and she knew what they were thinking.   “I suggest a village north of the Wilds as our first destination.  ‘Tis not far and you will find much you need there.  Or, if you prefer, I shall simply be your silent guide.  The choice is yours.”  She didn’t allow any of them to reply as she turned to her mother.   “Farewell mother.  Do not forget the stew on the fire.  I would hate to return to a burned down hut.”

“Bah. ‘Tis far more likely you will return to see this entire area, along with my hut, swallowed up by the Blight.”

“I…all I meant was…”

“Yes, I know.  Do try to have fun, dear.”

And that was how the adventure of the three heroes began.

* * *

 

He noticed that more and more of the passerbys were pausing just for a moment to look at him.  He did not allow himself to smile, but he knew they were shocked at his continued survival.  They had no idea the training and nature of the Qunari.  They could go long stretches without substances to nourish them.  

That, and the _imekari_ continued to sneak him food.  

And the little sweet bread discs.  

Speaking of the child, he heard his footsteps on the earth.  But they were quicker, more panicked, than their normal nature.  The child appeared with fear flashing across his face.  He stumbled, hitting the ground hard, as a shower of rocks rained after him, hitting his back and the bars of the cage.  He scrambled to his feet, glancing at the prisoner once before darting behind the cage.  

More _basra_ children followed.  They were hardly much bigger than the _imekari_ and their faces were contorted with superiority and hate.  Any other place, any other time, he would not have interfered.  It was not the way of the Qun.  But before his brain could think it, a great arm was shoved through the bars of the cage.  His hand closed on the throat of the nearest basra child and plucked him from the ground.  The children shrieked, slipping so easily from triumph to terror, weren’t even worthy.  He shook the child before dropping him to the ground.  A growl followed after them as they fled back to the village.  

“The weak are not the ones who survive in the world.”  He stated simply to the child.  The _imekari_ nodded.  He lay in a small ball pressed against the foot of the cage.  He shook, but he did not cry.  A bruise was beginning to darken around one eye to add to the other bruises and scrapes.  

“Let me see, _imekari_.”  He reached through the cage and lifted the cloth that had once been a shirt.  Angry red swells were forming where the rocks had struck his back.  They stood in stark contrast to the lumps of his spine poking through his back.  He folded himself so he could sit at the bottom of the cage and left his arm on the child’s back.  

He didn’t need to speak that he would not mind if the _imekari_ spent the night with him.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Archive readers got luckily. Originally there was a year gap between the previous chapter and this one as I started senior year at college. 
> 
> Also, being such a Thor fan as I am, do you know how hard it is not to refer to Koln, Ceremal, and Salea as the Warriors Three? XD


End file.
